THE   SOUL   MARKET 


J 


Photo  by  Charles  S-weet,  Rothesay,  N.B 

OLIVE   CHRISTIAN   MALVERY   (MRS.    ARCHIBALD   MACKIRDY). 


THE  SOUL  MARKET 

WITH   WHICH    IS    INCLUDED 

"THE  HEART  OF  THINGS" 


BY 

OLIVE  CHRISTIAN   MALVERY\  /^« 

(MRS.    ARCHIBALD  MACKIRDY) 


NEW  YORK 
MCCLURE,  PHILLIPS   &  COMPANY 

LONDON 

HUTCHINSON   &   CO. 

1907 


CONTENTS 

FAOB 

INTRODUCTION  -  .  i 

CHAPTER  I 

The    first    View   of   London — Student    Days — Music    for 

Royalty— One  of  "The  Million"          ...          7 

CHAPTER    II 
A  " Heathen"  at  the  Opera  —Music  for  the  Million  -  -        29 

CHAPTER  III 

Up  and  down  the  Social  Ladder — From  a  Society  "  Crush  " 

to  the  "  Spike  "—The  Price  of  a  Soul     -  •        46 

CHAPTER  IV 
Fancies  and  Facts — Factory  Life — Makers  of  Millions        -        65 

CHAPTER  V 

The  British  "  Jungle  "—What  I  saw  of  the  Preserved  Food 

Trade       •  •        90 

CHAPTER  VI 
My  American  Education — The  Amenities  of  Chicago  105 

CHAPTER  VII 
Little  Sister  Sorrow    -  123 


2139047 


vl  Contents 

CHAPTER  VIII 
Gilding  the  Gutter— My  Experiences  of  Coster  Life  •      134 

CHAPTER  IX 
The  Story  of  the  Shop  -  -  .  .  if* 

CHAPTER  X 
In  the  Sweating  Dens  of  West  and  East  London      •  >      169 

CHAPTER  XI 

Women  who  Work  and  Babes  who  Weep — What  "  Home 

Industries"  mean  .       ig) 

CHAPTER  XII 
Side- Lights  on  Alien  Life  in  London  •       toa 

CHAPTER   XIII 

The  Simple  Life,  with  Variations — How  I  lived  on  Six- 
pence a  Day,  and  earned  it  221 

CHAPTER  XIV 
On  Outpost  Duty        •  •  236 

CHAPTER  XV 

How  we  encourage  our  Working  Population — Dust-Heaps 
as  "Eligible"  Building  Sites — Handicaps  on  British 
Trade  -  •  247 

CHAPTER  XVI 
The  Edge  of  the  Street— Pestilent  Shelter    -  -  -      264 


Contents  vii 

CHAPTER  XVII 

FACE 

The  Breeding-Place  of  Thieves         ....      279 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
The  Influences  of  Modern  Literature — Fancies  in  Feasts  -      291 

CHAPTER  XIX 
In  "Real"  England    ••-•..      303 

CHAPTER  XX 

THE    CURTAIN 

The  Conclusions  of  an  "Insider"      ....      309 


ILLUSTRATIONS    • 

PAGE 

OLIVE  CHRISTIAN  MALVERY-  Frontispiece 

MISS    MALVERY    AS   A    FLOWER-GIRL         -  facing  p.    1 6 

STARTING  OFF  ON  AN  ORGAN-GRINDING  EXPEDITION       •         l^ 

A  BANQUET  AT  THE  HYDE  PARK  HOTEL  48 

HOMELESS  MEN  BREAKING  THEIR  FAST       ••  49 

FACTORY  GIRLS  WAITING  FOR  THE  DOORS  TO  OPEN     •         74 

WOMEN  IN  A  DATE-PACKING  FACTORY  75 

MY  YOUNGEST  CUSTOMER    -  -       136 

OLD  WOMEN  PICKING  OAKUM      -  -137 

MISS  MALVERY  SERVING  IN  A  COFFEE-HOUSE  •        •       152 

SERVING  IN  A  "  SWEET "  SHOP  •      J53 

THE  MATCH-MAKERS'  HOME  194 

THE  OLD  CLOTHES  MARKET  AT  ROME-  195 

A  POOR  STREET  IN  LONDON  -      270 

SINGING  IN  THE  STREETS  FOR  A  LIVING     -  -        -      271 


THE  SOUL  MARKET 


INTRODUCTION 

THESE  are  prodigal  days.  The  summer  fields  aie  not  more 
thickly  strewn  with  buttercups  than  the  world  with  genius. 
During  the  last  three  seasons  the  newspapers  have  chronicled 
seventy-three  new  musical  geniuses.  There  is  no  child  who 
scrapes  the  fiddle  in  public,  or  thumps  a  piano  on  a  platform, 
who  is  not  a  genius,  provided  his  "  backers "  have  money 
enough  to  pay  for  the  reputation.  Every  man  who  is  insolent 
enough  to  bully  his  fellow-creatures  is  a  Political  Power ;  every 
woman  who  can  entice  a  crowd  into  her  house  is  a  Social 
Leader ;  every  musical  or  other  public  entertainer,  if  risque 
enough  to  secure  extensive  free  advertising,  is  an  Artiste. 
There  is  an  unwritten  tradition  in  these  matters  which  is 
handed  down  from  class  to  class,  and  generation  to  generation, 
and  on  this  foundation  have  been  compiled  many  Guide-Books 
of  life,  more  or  less  alike,  which  are  unfailing  indexes  to  life 
and  thought  in  this  country.  The  female  villain  must  have 
red  hair  and  baleful  eyes.  The  male  villain  is  dark  and 


a  StttroMtction 

handsome — this  is  an  unwritten  law.  Every  duchess  is 
beautiful  and  a  gambler,  every  smart  woman  immoral,  every 
Churchman  a  ritualist  in  disguise,  every  Nonconformist  pure  in 
heart.  All  British  workmen  are  sons  of  toil  and  industrious;  all 
capitalists  are  blood-suckers,  and  dukes  are  very  wicked.  The 
exploited  poor  are  always  deserving.  One  might  continue 
quoting  from  this  illuminating  Guide  till  no  avenue  of  thought 
or  work  remained  unexplored. 

To  write  about  a  country  and  its  people  now,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  travel  in  such  a  country  for  three  weeks.  During 
that  time  one  may  write  articles  enough  to  pay  all  travelling 
expenses,  and  the  book  that  comes  thereafter — an  authoritative 
history  of  the  country — should  be  clear  profit.  If  you  wish  to 
become  a  society  novelist,  there  is  no  other  qualification 
necessary  than  complete  ignorance  of  society. 

Suppose,  however,  that  you  are  cursed  with  a  vulgar  curiosity 
to  find  out  things  for  yourself,  what  happens  then  ?  Well,  you 
must  leave  your  motor  car  and  strike  out  across  the  fields  and 
ditches.  You  must  go  up  narrow  and  unpaved  ways,  and  you 
will  find  things  of  which  the  pretty  little  Guide  has  given  you 
no  account  whatever.  Then  you  throw  away  your  book  in 
disgust,  and  wander  alone  till  you  get  lost  in  the  most  hopeless 
labyrinth  of  strange  and  unknown  ways ;  and  you  will  be  lost 
for  ever  unless  a  merciful  Providence  and  strong  common- 
sense  helps  you  to  disentangle  the  crooked  paths  and  set 
you  in  a  straight  way.  Of  course,  if  anyone  chooses  to  forsake 
elected  methods— to  find  out  things  for  himself,  to  deal  with 


3 

matters  in  a  way  that  is  not  orthodox — he  must  expect  numbers 
of  excellent  people  to  be  scandalised.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
one  were  to  throw  aside  one's  identity  and  obtain  a  "job  " 
with  other  hand-to-mouth  workers  in  a  meat-packing  factory, 
and  found  there  putrid  animal  matter  being  concocted,  with 
the  ingenuity  worthy  of  a  better  object,  into  savouries,  potted 
meats,  and  various  canned  delicacies,  how  dreadfully  shocked 
one  would  be.  This  sort  of  crime,  the  Social  A.  B.  C.  says,  is 
only  committed  by  the  wicked  American  Beef  Trust. 

Then  suppose,  because  of  having  a  tiny  capital  to  invest,  a 
person  comes  to  take  a  keen  interest  in  commercial  and 
financial  matters,  and  follows  with  intelligent  reasoning  the 
fluctuations  in  the  Stock  Market ;  and  at  the  same  time,  having 
some  property  at  stake,  and  also  possessing  some  small  instinct 
of  citizenship,  this  person  begins  to  study,  and  inquire  closely 
concerning  political  matters,  would  it  be  possible  to  conceive 
the  horror  with  which  such  an  one  would  accept  the  discovery 
that  the  Chinese  Labour  Question  in  Africa  was  really  a  sort 
of  foraging  tiger  owned  by  certain  gentlemen  who,  on  occasions 
when  their  financial  affairs  were  not  altogether  prospering,  let 
this  animal  loose  on  the  public  to  bring  them  meat  ?  The 
astonished  victim  would  at  once  cry  out :  "  This  is  not  fair. 
Such  things  are  only  done  in  America  by  wicked  trust 
magnates,  my  Social  A.  B.  C.  tells  me  so,  and  says  :  '  Nobody 
in  this  country  has  a  license  to  rob  the  public. ' "  Yet  if  one 
goes  along  in  the  byways,  one  stumbles  upon  many  strange 
discoveries,  and  even  the  matter  of  writing  a  book  becomes  so 


4  -jntrotwctfon 

difficult  that  it  takes  years  of  living  and  thinking  before  it  is 
possible  to  venture  on  such  an  undertaking.  It  has  taken 
me  eight  years  of  life  in  England,  varied  with  considerable 
travel  in  America  and  Europe,  to  gain  even  a  passing  glimpse 
of  affairs  as  they  are.  The  work  and  study  of  my  whole  life 
have  gone  to  make  up  these  pages,  and  it  would  require  twenty 
such  lives  as  mine,  and  capacity  ten  thousandfold  greater,  to 
make  a  book  that  is  at  all  worthy  of  the  subjects  that  are 
herein  touched  on  in  a  humble  and  very  imperfect  manner. 

There  are  so  many  worlds  !  To  an  ardent  young  student 
working  at  art  or  music,  there  is  no  other  world  but  that  into 
which  he  finds  himself  plunged.  To  the  society  woman,  there 
is  no  world  beyond  the  circle  of  wealth.  To  the  city  man,  the 
world  is  concentrated  into  his  own  office.  And  yet  there  are 
a  hundred  other  worlds  of  which  one  may  never  have  any 
knowledge  unless  Fate  or  circumstance?  chance  to  open 
the  gates  thereof. 

A  journey  into  some  of  these  unknown  lands  brings  revela- 
tions stranger  than  those  which  came  to  St.  John  at  Patmos, 
and  one  wakens  up  to  the  Guide  life,  either  broken-hearted 
and  despairing,  or  refreshed  and  made  strong  with  the  Divine 
passion  for  Justice  and  Truth.  The  one  who  wakes  thus  will  be 
eager  to  travel  the  world  around,  to  enlist  recruits  to  the  new 
citizenship  under  the  banner  of  Truth.  This  call  may  be 
heeded  by  some,  but  most  people,  if  they  give  the  Banner- 
Bearer  a  thought  at  all,  will  only  call  him  a  fool  for  his  pains, 
and  say  that  as  the  world  has  got  on  very  well  for  nineteen 


•Jntrotmction  s 

centuries  it  is  likely  to  get  on  all  right  for  a  little  longer.  Of 
this,  the  "  fool "  will  take  no  heed,  for  he  will  know  in  his 
heart  that  the  world  must  tend  towards  better  ideals  and 
better  life,  or  the  end  will  be  shameful. 

To  those  who  still  have  faith  in  humanity  and  a  belief  in 
God,  this  book  is  dedicated. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   FIRST  VIEW  OF   LONDON — STUDENT   DAYS — MUSIC 
FOR   ROYALTY — ONE   OF    "THE   MILLION" 

I  AM  sitting  at  a  window  of  my  London  flat  looking  out 
upon  a  street  of  brick  buildings.  A  Board  school  is  at  one 
end,  and  a  barrel-organ  discourses  music  that  is  not  sweet 
at  the  other.  Between  these  two  delectable  points  a  constant 
stream  of  carmen's  vans  and  milk-carts  run.  Errand  boys 
pass  by  the  score,  whistling  snatches  of  music-hall  ditties. 
There  is  no  green  or  beautiful  thing  within  view.  In  this 
unquiet  place  there  is  found  neither  peace  nor  rest,  but  only 
a  sense  of  constant  movement  and  sound.  Yet  here  we  are, 
with  several  hundred  other  folks  as  foolish  as  ourselves, 
located  in  one  of  those  hideous  blocks  of  flats  which,  by  a 
travesty  of  terms,  people  call  "  home."  For  these  cramped 
and  unrestful  places,  with  the  heavy  smell  of  London 
always  about  us,  we  pay  rents  which  in  three  years'  time 
would  buy  outright  some  charming  country  place  which 
would  make  a  true  and  comfortable  home.  It  is  not  till 
ihe  years  have  taught  us  experience  that  we  realise  how 
foolishly  we  live,  and  what  contemptible  slaves  we  are  to 
fashion.  Nevertheless,  to  all  of  us  who  have  made  London 
our  abiding-place,  there  is  in  this  relentless  and  cruel  city 
a  weird  and  inexplicable  fascination  binding  us  with  bands 
so  strong  that,  in  breaking  them,  we  would  sever  some  of 
our  heart-strings. 

7 


8  Hbe  Soul 

To  this  dull  town  there  come  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of 
the  universe,  some  to  move  on  at  the  word  of  the  policeman 
Circumstance,  some  to  stay. 

Sitting  here,  confronted  with  the  burden  of  a  contract 
which  binds  me  to  deliver  a  book  I  have  promised  to  make 
into  the  publisher's  hands  by  a  specified  time,  my  thoughts 
turn  involuntarily  to  other  days  and  other  lands,  where  there 
is  neither  rush  nor  hurry,  and  where  life,  seen  at  this 
distance,  takes  on  many  attractions,  though  at  the  time  it 
appeared  uneventful  enough.  I  grow  despairing  when  I 
think  that  in  one  little  book  must  be  told  the  story  of  a 
life  that  has  taken  twenty  years  to  live.  Which  of  all  the 
events  shall  I  choose,  and  which  leave  out?  How  will  it 
be  possible  to  make  anything  like  a  consecutive  narrative 
of  things  that  have  befallen,  when  there  are  thousands  of 
miles  to  bring  within  a  narrow  compass,  and  a  hundred  lives 
from  which  to  create  but  one? 

This  is  my  first  book,  and  the  advice  I  have  received 
concerning  the  writing  of  it  would  in  itself  amount  to  an 
interesting  volume.  My  friends  are  as  eager  as  I  am  that 
it  should  be  well  done  and  a  success.  One  says  to  me: 
"  Adopt  a  staid  and  literary  manner ; "  another  advises  a 
colloquial  and  journalistic  style,  with  a  view  to  rendering 
it  easy  for  newspapers  to  quote  a  paragraph  from  any  page. 
An  ardent  socialist  friend  urges  me  to  paint  in  the  darkest 
shades,  blotting  out  the  light,  for  he  is  sure  there  is  too 
much  levity  about  serious  things  in  these  days.  Another 
bids  me  write  in  an  artless  fashion,  with  a  fairy  touch, 
saying  people  nowadays  have  no  time  to  read  heavy  books. 
So  here  I  sit,  puzzled  amidst  the  wealth  of  counsel  delivered 
to  me,  till  at  last,  in  despair,  I  elect  to  do  what  I  have  done 
almost  all  my  life — receive  everybody's  advice  thankfully, 
and  do  what  my  own  conscience  bids  me  do.  It  would 


Ufoe  ffirst  Wew  ot  Xonfcon  9 

have  been  easier  to  write  this  book  impersonally  as  a  story. 
Had  the  author  of  "The  Jungle"  written  his  book  as  a 
personal  experience,  he  would  probably  by  this  time  have 
been  languishing  in  an  American  prison.  He  was  wise 
when  he  gave  the  world  a  book  in  which  he  could 
mingle  facts  with  fancy  and  step  out  from  the  fire  of 
criticism  unscathed  himself. 

But  I  have  to  write  of  things  as  I  had  personal  know- 
ledge of  them.  The  stories  and  events  here  written  are  all 
true.  The  only  difference  I  have  made  between  actual 
happenings  and  the  recording  thereof  lies  in  the  fact  that  I 
have  changed  localities  and  names,  so  as  to  avoid  unpleasant 
consequences  to  individuals  while  trying  to  serve  the  majority. 
And  the  incidents  are  narrated,  as  the  story  demands,  with 
a  view  to  continuity,  instead  of  in  the  irregular  fashion  in 
which  they  occurred. 

I  began  student  life  in  India  hoping  to  qualify  for  a  university 
degree,  and  towards  this  end  I  studied  for  the  matriculation 
— or,  as  it  is  called  in  India,  the  Entrance  Examination — to 
an  Indian  university.  The  studies  were  conducted  under 
circumstances  that  seem  almost  play,  when  compared  with 
the  heart  and  blood  studies  of  life  that  I  have  since  made. 
There  were  gardens  and  flowers  and  care-free  days.  Later  it 
was  discovered  that  I  had  a  voice,  and  it  was  urgently  advised 
by  those  who  understood  these  matters,  that  I  should  be  sent 
to  England  to  train  as  a  public  singer.  A  friend  who  loved 
me,  and  believed  that  I  really  possessed  the  gift  of  a  beautiful 
voice,  was  instrumental  in  helping  me  to  accomplish  the 
desire  of  my  heart — which  was  to  study  in  England.  So  I 
left  my  native  country,  and  crossed  the  seas  to  what  was,  for 
me,  a  foreign  land. 

I  came  with  an  humble  heart  and  absolute  faith  in  every- 
thing that  was  English.  On  crossing  over  from  France  and 


io  ttbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

entering  the  train  that  was  to  bear  me  to  London,  my  heart 
began  to  beat  so  fast  that  I  felt  choking,  and  having  a 
carriage  to  myself,  I  stood  at  the  window  all  the  way  from 
Newhaven  to  London.  The  guard  was  extremely  kind,  and 
came  to  speak  to  me  at  every  stopping-place.  I  asked  him  as 
a  particular  favour  to  tell  me  the  very  instant  London  was 
reached.  Presently  the  train  slowed  down,  and  we  began 
passing  over  what  seemed  to  me  a  black-looking  wilderness, 
strewn  with  disused  flower-pots  of  strange  shapes — I  had 
never  seen  an  English  chimney-pot  in  my  life,  and  when 
confronted  with  miles  of  them  for  the  first  time,  I  was 
absolutely  puzzled  to  know  what  they  were.  It  was  growing 
dark,  and  was  very  cold  when  we  reached  London  Bridge. 
The  guard  came  to  my  carriage  door  and  said :  "  This  is 
London,  miss."  My  heart  sank  like  lead.  This  London  ! 
This  horrible,  black  place,  the  city  of  a  thousand  dreams ! 
A  place  I  had  thought  of  almost  night  and  day  while  travelling 
8,000  miles  to  reach  it !  I  had,  however,  to  travel  to  a  little 
place  in  Kent,  and  I  shall  never,  all  my  life,  cease  to  be 
grateful  for  the  welcome  I  received  on  arriving  at  my 
destination.  I  was  a  stranger,  alone,  very  young,  very 
inexperienced,  and  already  more  than  half  disappointed. 
Three  days  after,  I  was  enrolled  as  a  student  at  the  Royal 
College  of  Music.  Sir  Hubert  Parry,  the  most  genial, 
accomplished,  and  charming  of  directors,  met  me  himself 
and  took  me  into  a  practice-room,  and  asked  me  what  I 
could  do. 

I  said  :  "  Nothing." 

He  said  :  "  Will  you  sing  something  for  me  ?  " 
1  felt  I  could  not  sing  a  note  to  save  my  life.     However,  he 
played  a  scale  on  the  piano,  and  asked  me  to  sing  the  notes 
for  him.      I  did  so,  and  after  several  other  exercises  he 
said: 


first  Wew  ot  Slon&on  n 

"  You  have  a  singing  mouth  and  a  musical  voice ;  we  must 
see  what  we  can  make  of  you." 

He  took  me  to  Mr.  Henry  Blower,  whom  I  came  later  to 
know  and  love  for  his  many  kindnesses  to  me.  The  director 
said: 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  little  girl  who  has  come  thousands 
of  miles  to  us  ;  you  must  take  care  of  her." 

Mr.  Blower  heard  me  sing,  and  said  he  thought  my  voice 
had  the  same  peculiar  timbre  as  that  of  Madam  Alice  Gomez. 

There  were  several  other  students  in  the  room  at  the  time  I 
was  introduced,  and  I  remember  well  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the 
fire,  with  a  big  furry  cloak  on,  feeling,  and  no  doubt  looking, 
the  picture  of  abject  misery.  Students,  however,  of  whatever 
class,  are,  I  think,  the  most  kindly  and  friendly  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  Since  those  days,  which  seem  so  far  off,  I 
have  met  university  students,  science  students,  students  of 
arts,  students  of  literature,  students  training  for  almost 
every  imaginable  profession,  and  I  have  found  them  as 
a  class  most  delightful  people  to  live  among,  and  to  deal 
with. 

There  were  nearly  500  students  in  the  Royal  College  of 
Music  when  I  entered.  Some  have  since  made  great  successes 
in  their  profession.  Across  the  road,  opposite  the  College, 
stood  Alexandra  House,  the  students'  hostelry,  which  has 
always  been  a  place  of  particular  interest  to  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen,  who  honours  it  every  year  with  a  visit.  Indeed,  His 
Majesty  the  King,  when  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  Queen 
were  both  intimately  associated  with  the  Royal  College  and 
Alexandra  House,  and  it  is  to  their  gracious  interest  that 
both  these  places  owe  the  splendid  position  they  hold  in  the 
musical  world.  The  Royal  College  has  come  to  be  regarded 
as  one  of  the  most  excellent  schools  in  the  world  for  musical 
training.  Students  come  there  from  every  part  of  the 


12  Ube  Soul  fl&arftet 

universe,  and  the  professorial  staff  is  composed  of  the 
most  brilliant  teachers,  drawn  from  the  musical  centres 
of  Europe. 

Attached  to  the  College  is  the  splendid  Concert  Hall  in 
which  are  held  the  students'  concerts,  which  are  some- 
times patronised  by  Royalty.  Sir  Hubert  Parry  himself 
gave  the  beautiful  organ  for  this  hall,  and  there  is  a 
splendid  platform  on  which  the  students  may  practise. 
In  this  hall  on  two  afternoons  of  every  week  may  be  heard 
some  of  the  most  delightful  music  that  it  is  possible 
to  hear  in  London.  The  students'  orchestra,  under  Sir 
Villiers  Stanford,  practises  one  afternoon.  Each  of  the 
players  is  a  young  and  enthusiastic  student,  who  is  studying 
as  a  professional  soloist.  On  another  afternoon  in  each  week 
the  Choral  Class  assembles  for  practice  under  Sir  Walter 
Parratt,  who  is  the  King's  Master  of  Music  and  organist  at 
the  Chapel  Royal,  Windsor,  a  most  remarkable  and  accom- 
plished man.  Sir  Walter  Parratt  has  the  reputation  of  being 
able  to  play  a  fugue  from  Bach,  a  game  of  chess,  and  give  an 
organ  lesson  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and  woe  betide  the 
scholar  who  slurs  a  note  or  plays  a  wrong  one  !  As  a  choral 
trainer  Sir  Walter  is  admirable.  He  has  a  brilliant  turn 
of  wit,  and  the  knack  of  inspiring  each  of  his  students  to  do 
his  or  her  best.  On  some  occasions  Sir  Hubert  Parry  himself 
conducts  the  singing.  It  can,  of  course,  be  understood 
how  eager  every  student  of  singing  is  to  be  admitted  into 
the  Choral  Class,  for  the  privilege  attached  to  this  class 
is,  that  conditionally  upon  a  certain  number  of  attendances 
having  been  put  in,  the  student  is  given  an  opportunity  of 
singing  in  the  class  at  the  State  Concerts  at  Buckingham 
Palace.  On  these  occasions  the  girls  are  all  required 
to  dress  in  white.  They  receive  a  guinea  each,  and  a 
supper  is  provided  at  the  Palace.  They  sit  on  the 


Ufoe  first  IDfew  ot  Xottoon  13 

platform,  and  have  an  opportunity  of  watching  the  most 
brilliant  audience  in  the  world  assemble,  and  of  pay- 
ing vocal  homage  to  the  most  beloved  of  reigning 
sovereigns. 

While  I  was  at  the  College,  there  came  to  the  students  one 
of  those  dearly  prized  opportunities  of  singing  for  the  Queen. 
It  was  almost  the  last  public  appearance  of  Queen  Victoria. 
She  came  to  lay  the  foundation-stone  of  the  South  Kensington 
School  of  Art — though  I  am  not  absolutely  certain  which  of 
the  group  of  buildings  it  was.  The  thing,  however,  that  no 
student  would  ever  forget,  was  that  the  Queen  specially 
requested  that  the  College  Choral  Class  should  sing  for  her 
on  that  occasion.  The  students  were  almost  wild  with  loyalty 
and  delight.  By  the  Queen's  desire,  the  girls  all  wore  pure 
white  dresses,  with  no  colours  whatever.  Among  the  class 
were  Miss  Agnes  Nicholls,  Mr.  Ivor  Foster,  and  many  who 
since  then  have  become  known  to  the  public  as  first-rate 
artistes. 

Sir  Hubert  Parry  stood  in  front  of  us,  a  charming  and 
courtly  figure,  and  before  the  Queen's  carriage  arrived,  he 
said  eagerly ;  "  Now  mind  you  all  do  your  best " — and  I  think 
we  did,  for  the  little  lady  in  black,  who  sat  propped  up  in  her 
carriage  on  a  cushion,  bowed  and  smiled  repeatedly,  and 
thanked  Sir  Hubert  for  the  pleasure  his  students'  singing  had 
given  her.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  now  our  King,  read  the 
Welcome  Speech  to  the  Queen,  and  in  answer,  she  spoke  so 
loudly  and  so  clearly  that  her  words  were  heard  quite  distinctly 
by  us  all. 

It  was  the  last  time  I  saw  the  Queen.  Soon  after  she  laid 
down  crown  and  sceptre  for  ever,  and  I,  with  many  other 
students,  waited  sorrowfully  for  "the  passing  of  the  Great 
Queen."  From  a  window  in  Victoria  Street,  we  saw  her 
borne  through  the  thousands  of  silent,  mourning  people,  to 


i4  TTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

her  last  resting-place.  Some  of  us  had  risen  at  three  o'clock 
that  morning  to  find  our  places  there  to  wait,  that  we  might 
add  our  tribute  of  devotion. 

During  my  early  days  at  College  I  saw,  of  course,  chiefly 
the  bright  side  of  life.  Those  days  were  certainly  some 
of  the  happiest  I  have  had  in  my  life.  I  was  able  to  practise 
six  hours  a  day — with  regulated  intervals,  of  course — and 
each  day  seemed  to  bring  some  new  and  delightful  know- 
ledge. I  lived  for  a  time  with  another  student  in  lodgings 
near  Sloane  Square,  and  several  times  during  my  first 
summer  in  London,  we  walked  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  to  Covent  Garden  to  see  the  flowers  and  fruit. 
On  these  occasions  we  returned  with  baskets  full  of  flowers 
which  we  purchased  for  a  few  pennies.  In  any  London 
shop  these  same  blossoms  would  have  cost  many  shillings; 
but  we  did  not  look  like  American  sight-seers ;  so  at  Covent 
Garden  we  bought  them  cheaply.  It  must  be  remarked  that 
Americans  are  always  considered  fair  prey.  Special  prices 
are  made  for  them  everywhere  in  London.  On  one  occasion 
a  very  amusing  incident  happened.  The  girl  who  was  living 
with  me  was  very  much  attracted  by  some  extraordinary-look- 
ing lilies,  which  were  displayed  by  an  old  woman  whom  I 
have  since  come  to  know  as  a  typical  Covent  Garden  "  hand." 
Being  extremely  fond  of  flowers,  and  having  spent  my  child- 
hood among  the  most  rare  and  lovely  flowers,  I  have  what  a 
country  friend  of  mine  calls  a  "  sense  "  for  them.  The  appear- 
ance of  these  lilies  struck  me  as  being  extremely  odd,  and 
looking  down  at  them  closely,  I  asked  the  old  lady  if  they 
were  painted. 

"  Painted ! "  she  said  disgustedly.  "  O'  course  not !  they 
grows  like  that  there." 

My  companion  insisted  on  buying  some. 

"Don't,"  I  said.     "  Can't  you  smell  the  paint?"    There 


ZTfoe  first  IDfew  of  Xonton  15 

was  a  big  dash  of  green  in  the  centre  of  each  white 
lily. 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  my  companion,  "  of  course  they  are  not 
painted." 

She  bought  a  bunch  of  the  lilies  for  sixpence,  and  stuck 
her  nose  into  one "  to  inhale  the  scent ;  when  she  withdrew  it, 
a  brilliant  spot  of  green  adorned  the  organ.  The  more  she 
rubbed  with  her  handkerchief,  the  more  the  paint  seemed  to 
settle  into  her  nose.  It  was  oil-paint,  and  I  laughed  myself 
nearly  into  hysterics  over  her  plight.  Even  the  policemen,  as 
we  passed  them,  had  sympathetic  jokes  to  make  on  my 
companion's  appearance. 

In  those  days  I  had  no  personal  knowledge  of  the  life  of 
the  people  in  and  about  Covent  Garden,  and  it  was  not  till  I 
had  been  in  England  some  months  that  I  became  acquainted 
with  parts  of  the  world  outside  the  charmed  musical  circle, 
although  I  had  always  been  interested  in  the  poor,  and  had 
helped  to  collect  money  for  Dr.  Barnardo's  Homes  when  I  was 
a  child  in  India. 

One  late  autumn  evening,  on  my  way  home  from  the  College, 
a  poorly-clad  woman,  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  followed  me  for 
a  little  way,  begging  that  I  would  buy  some  flowers  she  had. 
I  told  her  I  did  not  want  the  flowers,  but  she  still  followed 
me,  and  when  I  turned  to  speak  to  her,  I  saw  that  she  looked 
very  thin  and  miserable.  She  noticed  that  I  hesitated  and 
tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  not  taken  a  penny  to-day,  miss,"  she  said.  "  Buy 
'em,  and  you  won't  regret  it." 

The  flowers  were  quite  wilted,  and  as  I  had  been  most 
seriously  warned  never  to  give  money  in  the  streets,  or  to 
believe  stories  told  to  me  by  such  people,  I  refused  to  buy 
the  flowers. 

"Indeed,"  I  said  again,  "I  don't  want  them,"  and  walked 


16  ube  Soul  fl&arftet 

quickly  away.  But  I  had  not  gone  more  than  a  few  yards, 
when  a  horrible  feeling  came  over  me.  I  was  hurrying  home 
to  a  comfortable,  warm  room  and  good  food,  and  here  was  a 
poor  creature,  with  a  little  child,  out  in  the  wet  streets.  I 
turned  back  and  joined  the  woman.  After  walking  along 
with  her  for  some  way,  and  hearing  her  story,  I  said  to  her : 
"  If  you  care  to  come  with  me  to  my  rooms,  I  will  give  you 
some  tea  for  yourself  and  some  milk  for  the  child,  and  then 
I  would  like  to  go  with  you  to  your  lodgings  and  see  if  what 
you  tell  me  is  true." 

"  It  ain't  the  kind  of  place  thaf  s  fit  for  you  to  see,  miss," 
she  said  reluctantly. 

"  Oh !  that  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  I  argued.  "  I  shall  be 
quite  ready  to  go  if  you  will  take  me." 

I  decided  that  if  the  woman's  distress  was  as  genuine  as 
she  said  it  was,  she  would  not  object  to  come  to  my  lodgings 
and  wait  till  I  was  ready  to  accompany  her  to  her  place  later 
on.  She  followed  me  to  my  room,  where  I  changed  my  dress 
for  an  old  one,  and  leaving  my  watch  and  rings  there,  we  set 
out  for  the  woman's  home.  We  walked  westward  again.  I 
did  not  at  that  time  know  the  locality,  and  could  not  have 
found  my  way  alone.  From  the  outskirts  of  a  well-to-do 
neighbourhood,  we  plunged  suddenly  into  a  vile  and  narrow 
street,  where  the  gutters  were  thick  with  refuse.  Into  a  house 
opening  on  to  this  lane,  the  woman  led  me.  We  stumbled  up 
some  dark  and  rickety  stairs  to  the  fourth  storey,  where,  in  a 
miserable  little  room  I  found,  lying  on  the  floor  on  a  heap  of 
rags,  a  man  who,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  seemed  dying. 

Looking  back  through  the  years  at  my  first  introduction  to 
London's  ugly  places,  I  always  feel  glad  of  the  prompting  that 
took  me  back  to  that  poor  woman.  Many  a  time  and  often, 
since  then,  I  have  been  deceived  and  cheated  by  clever  liars. 
But  from  what  I  know  of  the  lives  of  the  poor,  I  would  rather 


Photo  by  Hana,  Ltd.,  Bedford  Street,  Strand. 

MISS   MALVERY   AS   A   FLOWER-GIRL 


Ebe  fffret  iDiew  of  Xonfcon  17 

have  it  so,  than  labour  under  the  burden  of  passing  a  starving 
woman  and  a  suffering,  dying  child  in  the  streets,  having 
myself  a  home  and  food,  and  all  things  necessary  to  make 
life  livable. 

There  was  nothing  in  this  miserable  room  save  a  tiny 
saucepan  on  an  empty  stove.  There  was  no  fire,  no  warmth 
or  light,  and  no  furniture.  Not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  were 
streets  of  splendid  houses,  whose  waste  would  have  kept  many 
such  a  family  as  this.  After  this  experience,  when  an  invita- 
tion came  to  me  from  a  friend  who  was  much  interested  in  a 
club  for  girls  at  Lambeth,  to  help  her  occasionally  by  singing 
for  them,  I  complied  with  the  request  willingly,  and  so  began 
my  first  introduction  to  a  class  of  people  whom,  since  those 
days,  I  have  come  to  know  exceedingly  well.  Later,  to  my 
infinite  good,  I  gained  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Rae,  President 
of  the  Girls'  Guild  of  Good  Life  at  Hoxton.  This  friendship, 
and  the  memory  of  one  other  most  precious,  have  inspired  the 
humble  efforts  I  have  since  made  to  "  pass  on  my  blessings." 

Many  and  varied  were  the  concerts  and  entertainments  the 
students  from  the  Royal  College  assisted  at,  in  and  about 
London.  My  experience  of  professional  musicians  and 
entertainers  is,  that  they  are  most  generous  in  giving  their 
services  and  time  for  those  less  fortunate  than  themselves. 
Indeed,  so  greatly  has  this  characteristic  been  traded  on  by 
society  ladies  and  philanthropic  institutions  in  London  and 
elsewhere,  that  it  has  become  a  matter  of  extreme  difficulty 
for  a  young  student,  who  has  spent  many  years  and  large  sums 
of  money  in  acquiring  good  training  as  a  musician,  to  obtain 
any  remuneration  for  such  services.  During  the  last  five  years 
I  have  had  several  thousand  requests  to  appear  at  various 
charity  concerts,  entertainments,  and  bazaars  in  every  part  of 
the  kingdom.  These  philanthropic  displays  cost  the  organ- 
isers nothing.  Every  artiste  of  ans  standing  is  pressed  to 


1 8  zrbe  Soul 

render  free  service  on  these  occasions ;  tradesmen  are  almost 
compelled  to  contribute  goods  in  kind,  and  the  only  people 
who  contribute  nothing  except  their  time,  which  is  really  of 
no  value,  are  those  who  receive  the  public  thanks  for  their 
large  generosity  and  untiring  zeal  in  "  giving  "  so  much  for 
charity.  The  "  giving  "  is  done  by  those  who  hardly  receive 
even  a  word  of  acknowledgment. 

It  was  quite  by  accident  that  I  became  a  public  reciter 
instead  of  a  singer.  I  studied  elocution  at  the  College,  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  a  clear  enunciation.  At  this  time  I  was 
also  studying  English  Literature  with  a  well-known  Oxford 
scholar,  and  I  wrote  two  descriptive  poems  which  I  called 
"  Indian  Pictures."  My  tutor  was  so  pleased  with  these  that 
he  advised  me  to  have  them  set  to  music  as  a  "  scena  "  for 
solo  and  orchestra.  The  late  Mr.  W.  Y.  Hurlstone  undertook 
to  set  these  poems  to  music.  Instead,  however,  of  setting 
them  for  orchestra,  he  set  them  for  recitation,  and,  with  no 
idea  of  doing  them  in  public  myself,  I  recited  them  over 
and  over  for  him  as  he  played  the  music.  That  year,  how- 
ever, I  was  invited  to  recite  one  of  my  own  poems  at  a 
concert  at  a  Literary  Institute.  Mr.  Hurlstone  accom- 
panied me,  playing  his  own  music.  We  had  a  splendid 
reception.  The  London  Press  gave  us  generous  praise.  Even 
the  Times  said  kind  things  of  the  performance,  and  we  felt 
supremely  happy.  Circumstances  compelled  me  shortly  after 
to  begin  work  immediately,  and  I  taught  and  studied  at  the 
same  time.  Fortunately  I  loved  teaching.  When  a  tiny  child, 
I  accompanied  my  grandmother,  who  had  at  one  time  thirty 
schools  for  girls  and  women  in  her  charge  in  India.  I  had  a 
wooden  slate  and  reed  pen,  and  often  taught  quite  old  women 
to  make  their  letters.  My  grandmother  was  a  very  accom- 
plished woman  and  a  fine  reader.  She  used  to  make  me 
stand  at  one  end  of  the  long  verandah  of  our  house,  while  she 


TTbe  jffrst  it)iew  of  Xoitoon  19 

sat  at  the  other  end  and  listened  to  me,  as  I  read  aloud 
passages  from  newspapers,  poetry,  or  choice  literature.  I 
learned  in  this  way  to  use  my  voice  naturally  and  well. 

It  was  an  extremely  providential  thing  for  me  that  I  became 
known  as  a  teacher.  I  obtained  a  visiting  "lectureship"  at  a 
Girls'  College  where  I  had  an  elocution  class — and  gradually 
I  had  quite  a  number  of  pupils.  Two  members  of  Parliament, 
one  well-known  barrister,  and  several  clergymen  came  to  me 
with  recommendations  from  friends.  The  work  was  a 
constant  delight  to  me,  and  I  have  had  reason  to  be  very 
proud  of  some  of  my  pupils. 

As  soon  as  I  had  obtained  a  few  professional  successes  and 
gained  some  friends,  I  found  myself  invited  out  very  often, 
and  from  quite  the  first  days  of  my  career  I  might  have 
employed  myself  every  day  in  the  week  during  the  season  at 
some  "  At  Home  "  or  Charity  Function.  A  few  experiences, 
however,  of  such  things  satisfied  me  that  there  was  nothing  to 
gain  from  them.  The  favour  of  society  is  fickle.  I  saw  one 
after  another  of  society  entertainers  "taken  up"  and  flung 
aside  for  the  next  craze. 

One  lady  I  was  introduced  to  as  being  very  philanthropic 
and  a  great  worker  for  charity,  added  some  ^"300  a  year  to 
her  income  by  this  means.  The  way  I  first  discovered  this 
ingenious  method  of  acquiring  money  was  when  she  asked  me 
to  assist  her  in  organising  a  big  charity  concert.  I  did  almost 
all  the  drudgery — persuaded  several  well-known  artistes  to 
give  their  services,  and  sold  ^75  worth  of  tickets.  The 
concert  was  a  great  success,  and  the  hall  was  well  filled.  To 
my  astonishment,  when  the  receipts  were  declared  the  charity 
got  £zi-  The  lady  paid  for  her  charming  dress,  several 
lunches  and  dinner-parties,  and  various  other  "extras"  out 
of  the  proceeds  of  the  concert,  reckoning  them  as  legitimate 
expenses. 


so  ZTbe  Soul 

I  had  another  experience  of  a  charity  function — a  bazaar — 
where  I  found  the  Secretary  had  all  her  confectionery  and 
grocery  provided  for  her  for  over  a  month  from  the  bazaar 
stores.  After  this  I  resolved  I  would  never  assist  at  a  charity 
function  of  any  sort  unless  I  knew  the  promoters  intimately, 
and  was  personally  interested  in  the  charity. 

Britain  gives  more  in  charity  yearly  than  any  other  nation. 
Her  charity  is  the  most  costly  and  badly  managed  of  any. 
There  are  hundreds  of  people  employed  to-day  in  London 
alone,  in  collecting  and  distributing  charity,  If  a  central 
office  were  established,  presided  over  by  responsible  Govern- 
ment-paid officers,  a  vast  amount  of  real  good  might  be 
effected  at  a  small  cost. 

It  is  always,  of  course,  on  poor  entertainers  the  heaviest 
burdens  of  these  charity  entertainments  fall.  One  agent  in 
London  who  "manages"  numbers  of  these  functions  makes 
every  unknown  artiste  who  wants  to  appear,  pay  him  ;£io  for 
the  "  introduction."  This  money,  of  course,  does  not  go  to 
the  charity. 

I  have  often  wondered  whether  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
insist  on  a  Government  license  for  all  charity  functions,  a 
statement  of  receipts  and  expenses  being  made  to  special 
authorities  in  charge  of  such  a  department,  created  for  the 
protection  of  the  public.  In  the  matter  of  these  and  similar 
performances,  I  would  always  say  to  young  beginners,  "  Don't 
give  your  services  to  great  ladies  for  an  '  introduction,'  unless 
you  are  quite  sure  that  you  are  to  get  paid  work  from  such 
an  introduction,  and  never  give  money  to  an  agent  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  a  public  appearance.  No  appearance 
paid  for  in  this  way  is  worth  making." 

Two  friends  of  my  own,  girls  who  could  ill  afford  any 
outlay  of  capital,  paid  two  different  men — musical  agents  in 
London — the  sum  of  .^30  each  for  an  appearance,  one  at 


ZTbe  first  IDiew  ot  %on&on  21 

Queen's  Hall,  and  one  at  a  fashionable  charity  concert  at 
one  of  the  Ducal  houses.  In  the  first  case,  the  concert 
programme  was  made  up  of  unknown  people,  and  the 
audience  composed  of  their  friends,  and  the  Press  conspicuous 
by  its  absence.  In  the  second  case,  the  girl  came  in  last  on 
a  programme  which  was  contributed  to  by  some  of  the  most 
brilliant  artistes  of  the  day.  Nobody  waited  to  hear  her. 
I  have  known  other  cases  in  which  money  has  been  paid  on 
one  pretext  or  another,  to  agents  who  have  never  troubled  in 
any  way  to  fulfil  the  promises  made.  There  is  one  agent  now  in 
London,  who  once  had  £10  from  me;  the  one  and  only  time 
I  have  ever  had  such  a  transaction  with  an  agent.  This 
money  was  paid  in  advance,  for  printing  and  other  expenses, 
of  a  concert  he  was  to  manage  for  me.  He  appeared 
to  have  but  little  credit,  and  was  unable  to  sell  a 
single  ticket.  It  was  the  only  concert  I  have  ever  had 
which  was,  from  every  point  of  view,  a  failure.  It  cost 
me  about  .^30,  and  this  because,  instead  of  managing  the 
affair  myself,  or  trusting  it  to  a  well-known  and  experienced 
agent,  many  of  whom  I  know  well,  I  was  over-persuaded 
by  an  enthusiastic  friend  to  leave  the  matter  in  this  man's 
hands.  He  is  living  now  in  comfortable  style,  with  a  town 
and  country  house.  Many  poor  beginners  pay  him  sums  of 
money  for  appearances  at  his  club,  and  other  places,  which 
do  them  no  good  whatever. 

In  the  matter  of  appearing  at  society  "At  Homes,"  most 
young  artistes,  if  they  are  attractive  enough,  will  always  find,  for 
a  year  or  two,  society  ladies  who  will  "  take  them  up,"  give 
them  a  tea  or  dinner,  and  take  their  services,  which  have  cost 
them  years  of  work  and  an  outlay  of  considerable  capital  to 
acquire.  But  at  the  end  of  the  time  they  would  find  them- 
selves, instead  of  being  popular  and  in  demand,  worn  out, 
despised,  wad  cast  aside  for  the  first  new-comer  who  created 


22  Ube  Soul  /IDarfeet 

some  sensation  in  the  entertaining  world.  Except  in  some 
rare  cases  where  the  appearance  might  be  before  Royalty,  or 
well-known  patrons  of  art,  there  is  not  only  no  advantage,  but 
positive  harm  to  a  student  in  allowing  fashionable  women  to 
entertain  their  friends  at  the  cost  of  giving  to  the  artiste  a 
half-crown  tea.  There  are  little  incidental  expenses  to  be 
paid  for,  such  as  cabs,  shoes,  gloves,  etc.,  and  the  student  had 
much  better  keep  her  money,  and  have  a  fourpenny  tea  in 
an  A. B.C.  shop. 

Lately  I  had  an  invitation  from  a  woman  who  entertains  a 
great  deal  in  London.  She  was  giving  a  large  garden-party 
at  her  country  place,  and  generously  invited  me,  saying  how 
charmed  she  would  be  to  have  a  few  recitations.  The  reward 
to  me  was  to  be  the  chance  of  introduction  to  "  such  useful 
people,  some  of  the  best  in  society,  in  fact."  As  there  is  hardly 
a  city  in  this  kingdom  where  I  have  not  recited  or  spoken,  I 
wrote  and  thanked  this  lady  for  her  kind  invitation,  and  said 
that  I  was  not  working  for  introductions,  but  that  I  would  be 
delighted  to  recite  for  her  at  my  usual  fee. 

This,  however,  may  be  said  here.  An  agent  can  do 
nothing  for  anyone  whose  work  is  not  really  good,  and  the 
public  are  really  the  arbiters  of  an  entertainer's  fate,  and  it  is 
by  the  public  that  an  artiste  must  stand  or  fall.  Once  an 
artiste  makes  a  public  success,  there  is  no  fear  that  "  Society  " 
will  be  neglectful.  Good  work  is  a  fairly  reliable  capital. 

There  came  one  day  to  the  studio  of  a  great  professor 
with  whom  I  was  then  studying,  a  lady  and  her  daughter, 
who  had  travelled  the  world  over  in  search  of  instruction. 
The  lady  was  an  American  and  well-to-do.  She  had  spent, 
she  told  my  master,  ^3,000  in  having  her  daughter  trained. 
She  came  to  him  finally  for  a  few  finishing  touches  and  an 
introduction  to  London.  The  professor  heard  the  young 
woman  sing.  She  certainly  showed  evidences  of  extreme 


ttfoe  first  Diew  of  Xonfcon  »s 

cultivation,  but  her  voice  was  small  and  very  unattractive. 
The  professor  said :  "  Madam,  if  the  masters  could  have 
made  your  daughter  a  singer  she  would  be  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  world,  but  God  Almighty  evidently  had  other 
intentions  for  her.  She  had  better  take  up  millinery : 
it  is  an  admirable  outlet  for  feminine  talent."  The  fury  of 
the  two  ladies  may  be  imagined.  How  much  more  they 
spent  in  the  vain  endeavour  to  foist  an  absolutely  incom- 
petent person  on  the  public,  we  never  heard,  but  as  far  as 
we  know,  the  public  has  not  proved  that  it  was  waiting  to 
fall  over  them  with  a  welcome. 

The  real  patrons  of  music  and  art  in  England  are  "the 
people."  Society  is  not  really  musical  at  all.  If  it  were, 
there  would  not  be  so  many  starving  musicians  scattered 
about.  The  very  rich  are  seldom  truly  artistic  or  musical, 
though  there  is  a  fashion  among  them  of  "posing"  as 
patrons  of  music  and  art.  What  society  runs  after  is  the 
latest  sensation.  It  rarely  ever  encourages  unknown  talent. 

Every  year  there  come  to  the  various  educational  centres 
hundreds  of  enthusiastic  young  folk  from  towns  and  villages 
all  over  the  kingdom,  all  hoping  to  be  Pattis,  Paderewskis, 
or  Joachims,  and  only  one  out  of  several  thousands  succeeds 
in  making  even  a  living.  English  artistes,  notwithstanding 
recent  endeavours  to  cultivate  British  music,  are  not  popular. 
Here  and  there  one  supreme  genius  may  succeed  in  winning 
fame  and  success,  but  hundreds  drop  out  of  the  ranks. 

To  English  and  American  women,  most  foreign  artistes 
owe  their  fame  and  their  professional  income.  It  was  in 
Paris  that  I  met  one  of  these  society  darlings.  He  was 
drawing  every  year  from  the  pockets  of  English  and 
American  ladies  several  thousands  of  pounds.  He  owed 
the  very  instrument  with  which  he  won  his  success  to  the 
generosity  of  an  English  friend.  English  and  American  girls 


24  ZTbe  Soul  /iDarfcet 

had  pelted  him  with  violets  and  roses ;  they  would  have  lain 
down  and  allowed  him  to  make  a  door-mat  of  them,  feeling 
grateful  for  fne  compliment.  In  a  Paris  drawing-room  where 
he  was  being  fited  by  a  great  company  of  foreigners,  someone 
said  to  him  : 

"  Ah !  Monsieur,  you  will  be  marrying  a  rich  American  or 
a  beautiful  English  wife." 

He  laughed  a  horrid,  sneering  laugh  and  said  : 

"  English  or  American  wife !  No,  no ;  don't  you  make 
any  mistake :  they  are  too  cheap — too  very  cheap." 

On  one  occasion,  speaking  to  the  late  Mr.  Vert,  I  asked 
him  to  explain  to  me  the  mystery  of  the  sudden  success 
which  had  overwhelmed  a  foreign  artiste  who  had  appeared 
in  London  for  a  few  weeks.  He  said :  "  Oh  !  Mrs.  So-and-So 
has  put  aside  .^5,000  to  start  him,  and  he  will  be  a  great 
success."  Everyone  in  the  musical  world  knows  of  a  hundred 
such  cases,  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  pitiful  things  in  life  to 
see  gifted  and  enthusiastic  young  students  working  with  heart 
and  mind  in  the  vain  hope  that  their  own  countrymen  and 
women  will  some  day  give  them  a  welcome.  If  they  were 
long-haired,  oily,  foreign,  and  immoral,  their  chances  of 
success  would  be  a  thousand  to  one;  but  being  British, 
and  poor  and  clean,  their  chances  are  one  to  a  thousand. 

There  died,  a  few  months  ago,  in  London  a  young  English 
musician,  who  was,  according  to  the  highest  and  best  critics 
of  the  day,  a  living  example  of  the  capacity  and  talent  which 
is  sometimes  to  be  found  in  British  composers.  He  was  a 
senior  student  when  I  entered  college,  and  even  then  his 
compositions  and  executive  capacity  had  won  for  him  a  fair 
reputation.  He  worked  almost  continuously,  and  being  of  a 
delicate  and  extremely  sensitive  nature,  his  health  gave  way. 
Still  for  him  there  was  no  respite.  He  was  not  among  the 
fortunate  few.  Although  his  work  was  beautiful  and  worthy 


ZIbe  first  Wew  of  Xonoon  25 

in  every  sense,  yet  it  did  not  gain  for  him  either  standing  or 
money  among  his  own  people.  He  was  the  only  support  of  a 
widowed  mother  and  two  sisters.  After  years  of  splendid 
work,  and  the  production  of  compositions  which  were 
admittedly  the  work  of  a  God-gifted  artist,  he  was  at  length 
elected  to  a  professorship  at  the  Royal  College  of  Music. 
Hardly  had  this  happened  when  the  effects  of  the  long  strain 
of  work  and  comparative  hardship  he  had  endured  ended  his 
jareer.  He  died  suddenly,  There  were  a  few  laudatory 
notices  in  the  papers — and  that  was  all.  Yet  here  was  a 
young  and  splendid  life  which  might  have  been  an  ornament 
to  this  country  absolutely  sacrificed  to  the  cruel  and  wicked 
fashion  of  crushing  out  everything  that  is  British,  and  fostering 
and  encouraging  everything  that  is  foreign.  Of  course,  for 
the  great  foreign  artistes  who  bring  their  beautiful  gifts  to  share 
with  us  we  can  have  nothing  but  admiration  and  kindliness. 
Such  gifts  are  not  confined  to  particular  countries  or  localities, 
and  the  world  is  ready  to  pay  homage  to  them  wherever  they 
are  found.  For  myself,  I  owe  my  introduction  and  success 
in  Paris  entirely  to  one  of  the  greatest  of  living  artistes — 
Madame  Calv£.  One  day  at  lunch  in  a  friend's  house  in  New 
York,  I  met  Calve".  As  I  entered  the  room  she  got  up  from 
the  table  and  came  to  meet  me  with  that  charming  and  warm- 
hearted friendliness  which  is  so  characteristic  of  her.  She  is 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  has  a  lovely  smile.  I  was  completely 
captivated.  No  one,  of  course,  in  a  private  house  would 
think  of  asking  Calv6  to  sing,  but  that  afternoon  she  said  to 
me :  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  give  you  pleasure  ? 
Shall  I  sing  something  for  you?"  And  she  got  up,  there 
and  then,  and  stood  by  the  piano,  and  sang  three  exquisite 
little  chansonettes — Provencal  songs.  More  lovely,  spontane- 
ous music  I  have  never  heard.  Two  years  after,  when  in 
Paris,  I  sent  Calv£  a  little  note,  merely  stating  that  I  was  in 


,»6  ZCbe  Soul  fl&atfcet 

the  city,  for  I  did  not  know  whether  she  would  have  time,  or 
care  to  renew  the  acquaintance.  In  answer,  she  sent  down 
her  companion  in  her  motor,  and  bade  her  bring  me  to  her 
box  at  the  opera.  Every  day  after  that,  Calve*,  or  some  friends 
to  whom  she  introduced  me,  sent  their  carriages  for  me,  and 
took  me  to  every  performance  of  any  merit  that  was  going  on 
in  Paris.  I  met  some  of  the  most  charming  hostesses  in 
French  and  American  -  French  society,  and  gave  several 
recitals  there,  which  the  papers  were  kind  enough  to  say 
were  "triumphs  of  art,"  and  these  successes  I  owe  almost 
entirely  to  Calvd  and  the  friends  I  met  through  her.  We 
sometimes  drove  along  in  her  beautiful  electric  brougham 
into  the  country  places,  and  there,  in  the  clear  air,  this 
beautiful  child  of  the  sun  would  open  her  mouth  and  sing 
like  a  bird — naturally  and  carelessly.  There  are  not  many 
people,  I  fancy,  who  have  had  the  privilege  of  hearing  one  of 
the  world's  most  gifted  singers  trill  forth  lovely  little  songs, 
one  after  the  other,  in  those  beautiful  country  lanes.  Calve 
was  going  to  Monte  Carlo  at  that  time  to  fulfil  a  professional 
engagement  there,  and  wished  to  take  me  with  her,  promising 
to  give  several  big  concerts  at  which  she  wished  me  to  recite. 
I  was  not  able,  however,  to  take  advantage  of  this  generous 
and  delightful  offer,  for  I  received  a  commission  from  Pearson's 
Magazine  and  an  American  Syndicate  to  travel  in  Europe  and 
give  an  account  of  the  condition  and  methods  of  alien 
emigration. 

Accompanied  by  my  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Northrop,  I 
made  an  extensive  tour  in  Europe.  We  visited  almost  every 
European  port,  and  going  inland,  made  investigations  as  to 
the  people's  lives,  and  economic  and  social  conditions.  From 
the  southern  European  ports  we  travelled  northward  again, 
and  passing  through  Switzerland  and  Germany,  reached  the 
Russian  frontier,  but  here,  although  I  possessed  private  letters 


ZTbe  jftrst  Dfcw  ot  Xonfcon  «7 

from  a  Russian  nobleman  of  enormous  influence,  a  passport 
vised  by  the  Russian  Ambassador,  and  another  by  the 
American  Consul-General,  we  met  with  extremely  rough 
usage.  The  Russians  were  at  that  time  suffering  from 
nervous  prostration ;  they  were  seeing  Japanese  spies  in  the 
most  harmless  individuals,  and  a  camera-box,  to  them,  was 
most  certainly  a  deadly  instrument.  It  was  shortly  after  the 
Russian  outrage  on  the  British  fishing  fleet.  When  we  found 
we  could  get  no  satisfaction,  we  travelled  towards  Poland, 
where  the  insurrection  was  rampant.  I  had  met  several 
distinguished  Poles  in  Paris,  and  carried  with  me  private 
letters,  with  very  minute  instructions  as  to  how  and  when  I 
might  deliver  them  without  arousing  the  suspicions  of  the 
Russian  Poles.  Furthermore,  I  had  introductions  to  one  or 
two  of  the  Russian  officials,  and  well  authenticated  passports. 
I  was  able  to  study  in  their  own  countries  the  emigrants  that 
pour  like  a  destroying  flood  into  Britain  year  by  year.  I 
think  it  was  while  living  with  the  outcast  poor  as  a  "  street 
musician  "  that  I  first  conceived  the  idea  of  studying  these. 

I  had  seen  the  alien  in  London,  I  had  been  present, 
through  the  courtesy  of  officials  at  Ellis  Island  in  America,  at 
an  examination  of  emigrants  there ;  and  once  while  a  guest 
of  the  Republican  Club  at  a  luncheon  held  at  the  Waldorf 
Astoria  Hotel  in  New  York,  I  heard  a  lecture  delivered  by 
Mr.  Robinson,  Superintendent  of  Emigration,  dealing  with  the 
question  of  immigration  as  relating  to  the  United  States. 
Later,  in  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Robinson,  he  explained  to 
me  how  advantageous  it  was  for  America  to  receive  a  large 
supply  of  emigrants,  strong  and  stalwart,  simple  and  decent 
people,  drawn  from  the  Saxon  races  of  Europe.  He  pointed 
out  how  the  wide  plains  of  the  Western  States  were  waiting 
for  cultivation,  and  how  the  right  sort  of  immigration  meant 
prosperity  and  wealth  to  the  country.  The  real  danger  to  the 


28  ZTbe  Soul  /iDarftet 

United  States,  he  said,  was  the  never-ending  stream  of  poverty- 
stricken  and  diseased  creatures,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
increasingly  severe  regulations,  managed  to  secure  an  entrance 
into  America.  It  struck  me  then,  that  if  the  Americans,  with 
all  their  wealth  and  their  almost  unlimited  land,  could  not 
afford  to  receive  people  of  the  lower  emigrant  classes,  little 
England,  over-populated  and  unable  to  provide  food  for  her 
own  people,  was  certainly  not  the  country  to  allow  indis- 
criminate hordes  of  miserable  wretches,  the  offscourings  of 
Europe,  to  invade  her  shores.  This  opinion  was  justified  by 
the  sojourn  I  made  among  the  poor  and  outcast,  chiefly  in 
London,  and  the  journey  to  Europe  which  I  took,  to  study 
the  immigrant  "  at  home."  But  of  these  matters  I  will  treat 
elsewhere.  The  musical  part  of  this  story  would  not  be 
complete  without  an  account  of  the  adventures  which  befel 
me  while  making  "  music  for  the  millions." 


CHAPTER  II 

A  "HEATHEN"  AT  THE  OPERA — MUSIC  FOR  THE  MILLION 

DURING  my  student  days,  I  attended  many  concerts  of  all 
descriptions,  festivals  in  some  of  our  northern  towns,  such  as 
Leeds  and  York,  "popular"  concerts  held  at  Queen's  Hall, 
and  like  places,  and  those  marvellous  musical  feasts  given  on 
special  high  days  and  holidays  at  such  places  as  the  Albert 
Hall  and  the  People's  Palace.  Provided  the  programmes 
contain  the  names  of  known  and  loved  artistes,  the  crowds  at 
all  these  musical  entertainments  prove  the  innate  love  of 
music  that  "  the  people  "  have.  But  cheap  and  excellent  as 
are  the  musical  programmes  provided  in  the  well-known  halls, 
there  are  thousands  of  dwellers  in  the  poorer  parts  of  the 
towns  who  are  unable  to  spend  even  a  shilling  to  gratify  their 
love  of  sweet  sounds,  and  it  is  in  the  poor  streets,  therefore — 
in  the  byways  and  alleys — that  the  peripatetic  musicians  and 
grinders  of  the  barrel-organ  find  the  coppers  come  most 
generously  to  their  hands. 

The  interest  that  I  took  in  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  the 
poor  led  me  to  make  a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  makers 
of  music  for  "the  millions,"  and  the  place  they  fill  in  the 
scheme  of  affairs. 

In  looking  back  over  events  and  tracing  the  gradual 
education  of  my  senses,  I  am  compelled  to  wonder  at  the 
enormous  difference  a  few  years  spent  in  a  "  civilised  "  country 

makes  on  one's  mind  and  manners.     When  I  was  still  new  to 

29 


30  ZTbe  Soul  fl&arftet 

English  fashions,  I  was  taken  by  friends  to  the  opera.  It  was 
a  gala  performance.  We  had  a  box,  and  the  party  was  a  gay 
and  fashionable  one,  and  to  me  a  night  at  the  opera  was  quite 
an  event.  I  had  been  to  a  pantomime  at  Drury  Lane,  and 
had  enjoyed  the  lights  and  colours,  though  I  felt  rather  like  a 
lady  I  met  at  a  reading  given  by  Mark  Twain  in  India.  We 
had  been  enjoying  the  famous  humorist's  stories  immensely, 
but  as  we  came  out  regretting  the  end  of  the  performance, 
this  lady  remarked :  "  Well,  I  can't  see  where  the  fun  came 
in ;  I  can  say  funnier  things  than  that  myself."  So  with  me,  I 
could  only  laugh  occasionally,  and  wasn't  educated  up  to  the 
exquisite  humour  of  the  clown's  falls,  and  the  thumping  of 
one  clown  by  the  other. 

My  first  impressions  of  the  opera  were  of  this  same  crude 
kind.  It  was  a  German  opera.  I  did  not  understand  German, 
but  I  loved  music.  What  was  my  amazement,  therefore,  to 
see  a  group  of  fat  women  with  whitened  noses  come  out  and 
dance  and  sing.  Then  a  very  large  lady,  with  quite  a  dis- 
tinctive figure,  came  out  and  made  impassioned  sounds  to 
carefully  arranged  gestures.  First  she  put  out  her  right  arm, 
then  her  left,  then  held  both  arms  out  together,  and  lastly 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  star-spangled  bosom.  All  her 
musical  phrases  ended  with  a  terrifically  high  note,  and  she 
got  very  red  each  time.  After  this  there  appeared  from  a  side 
door  a  podgy  man  who  turned  out  to  be  a  great  tenor.  He 
trotted  with  little  steps  towards  the  lady  and  began  to  sing.  As 
he  sang  they  both  moved  apart.  He  also  had  his  particular 
gestures.  I  was  not  educated  enough  to  know  what  they 
meant.  He  began  by  putting  his  right  hand  on  his  heart, 
then  he  flung  out  the  arm  and  placed  his  left  hand  on  his 
heart;  this  done,  the  left  arm  was  thrown  out,  and  finally, 
both  hands  were  clasped  over  the  heart.  This  ending,  the 
lady  began  to  sing :  it  was  a  duet.  They  came  together,  the 


H  "  Deatben "  at  tfoe  ©pera  31 

large  lady  threw  herself  into  the  podgy  tenor's  arms,  he 
staggered  several  feet,  there  was  a  great  clash  of  instruments, 
a  wild  shriek  of  human  voices,  and  a  storm  of  applause. 

"Isn't  he  divine?"  asked  my  hostess.  Then  aside  to 
another  lady:  "You  know,  my  dear,  they  say  she  isn't — 
Well—" 

"  Oh,  everyone  knows  that,"  answered  the  other  lady  crossly. 
"  How  did  you  enjoy  it  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  me. 

"Don't  they  ever  tumble  down?"  I  said  disappointedly. 
"They  do  at  the  pantomime.  That  always  happens  at  the 
end — doesn't  it  happen  in  the  opera?  " 

The  whole  party  laughed,  much  to  my  amazement.  Since 
those  callow  days  I  have  been  to  the  opera  many  scores  of 
times.  But  after  looking  at  the  scene  and  fixing  the  picture 
in  my  mind,  I  shut  my  eyes  and  listen  to  the  music,  and  put 
the  action  in  for  myself.  It  saves  a  great  deal  of  annoyance 
and  nervousness,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  that  some  singers  who 
can  act  are  in  the  cast,  but  this  happens  so  rarely  that  it 
is  hardly  worth  counting  on. 

Each  set  of  people,  each  class,  has  its  own  peculiar  ideas  of 
pleasure,  and  I  found  among  the  street  musicians  I  came  to 
know  later,  styles  and  fashions  as  characteristic  as  those  of 
the  "  stars  "  among  musicians. 

Once,  "for  the  fun  of  the  thing,"  I  went  out  with  a  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who,  in  masks  and  long  cloaks, 
picnicked  on  the  river  at  Henley.  Every  one  of  the  party 
was  well-born,  and  we  were  all  fairly  well  off  as  regards 
worldly  wealth,  but  the  fun  was  what  we  wanted.  We  got 
more,  however,  for  after  paying  our  expenses,  which  included 
a  "club  "  lunch,  we  had  ^13  over  at  the  end  of  the  second 
day.  We  were  so  gay  and  elated  at  our  success,  that  we  gave 
a  sort  of  party  for  what  the  men  called  "those  poor  Johnnies  '' 
— the  humbler  strollers  along  the  river -way,  who  had  not 


32  TEfoe  Soul  /IBatfcet 

made    much    money    through    exercising    their    vocal     01 
instrumental  arts  with  untiring  zeal. 

I  mention  this  "  outside  "  experience  merely  to  show  that 
long  before  I  got  into  actual  touch  with  the  poor  wandering 
singers  and  players  of  our  towns,  I  had  resolved  that  if  ever 
the  opportunity  came  to  me,  I  would  find  out  through 
personal  experience  what  claim  these  people  have  to  our 
sympathy  and  toleration,  and  what  place  they  fill  in  the 
myriad  crannies  of  our  hard  social  system. 

One  afternoon,  while  waiting  at  a  friend's  for  my  right-hand 
man,  a  gentleman  I  will  call  Mr.  C.,  to  come  in  and  tell  me 
whether  he  had  found  a  factory  I  could  enter  as  a  worker, 
there  came  up  from  the  street  a  weird  sound  of — singing,  I 
suppose  I  must  call  it,  for  want  of  a  more  descriptive  name. 
It  really  was  a  wheezy,  broken  succession  of  sounds,  through 
which  I  distinguished  a  few  notes  and  words  of  the  well- 
known  hymn,  "  Art  thou  Weary,  art  thou  Languid  ?  "  It  was 
irresistibly  comic,  for  it  ran  somewhat  like  this  :  "  '  Hart  thou 
.  .  .  Hart  thou  .  .  .  weery — '  Thank  you,  miss  " — and  the 
sound  of  a  penny  on  the  pavement — " '  weery,  Hart  thou 
languid — '  "  The  doleful  dirge  was  broken  to  pick  up  a  penny 
or  to  cough. 

I  said  to  my  friend,  on  a  sudden  inspiration :  "  Do  invite 
that  vocalist  into  the  kitchen ;  I  want  to  ask  her  to  let  me 
go  out  with  her  for  a  little  while." 

Mr.  C,  coming  in,  good-naturedly  went  after  the  woman. 
We  gave  her  some  tea  and  a  shilling,  and  she  promised  to 
come  for  me  next  day  and  take  me  out  with  her.  We  never 
saw  her  again.  But  we  were  not  to  be  daunted.  "  I'll  take 
you  out  myself,"  said  Mr.  C,  and  so  we  arranged  to  try  our 
luck  as  street  singers  one  night. 

The  experiment  was  very  successful ;  we  took  a  'bus  to  West 
Kensington,  and  as  we  alighted  near  the  station,  we  heard  a 


a  "  Deatben  "  at  tbe  ©pera  33 

woman  singing  in  one  of  the  streets  close  by.  Down  we  went 
after  her.  Mr.  C.  quickly  got  into  conversation  with  her. 
He  told  her  we  also  were  singers,  but  were  new  to  the  game 
— "  down  on  our  luck  " — "  no  place  for  the  likes  of  us  in  this 
'ere  sphere,"  he  said. 

"  True  enough,"  the  woman  replied.  "We  ain't  much  count 
— still  we  manage  to  live." 

We  talked  for  a  while,  then  adjourned  to  a  coffee-shop. 
The  woman  would  have  preferred  a  "  pub,"  but  I  objected, 
so  we  discussed  our  plans  over  some  eKtremely  muddy  coffee. 

The  woman  told  us  she  had  sung  in  the  streets  for  five 
years,  and  afterwards  I  found  she  made  it  pay.  She  lived 
quite  a  distance  off,  and  had  her  regular  haunts  where  she 
went  to  sing.  For  her  doleful  songs  and  hymns  sung  out  of 
tune,  in  gasps,  she  collected  from  sympathetic  people  quite  a 
respectable  sum  of  money  daily.  I  asked  her  if  she  would 
allow  me  to  accompany  her.  She  looked  up  at  me  with  a  quick, 
shrewd  glance. 

"  Do  you  know  any  'ymns  ?  "  she  asked.  "  '  Abide  with 
Me '  ? "  she  further  questioned. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  that  is  a  hymn  I  know." 

"All  right;  we'll  work  that  then,"  and  after  I  had  agreed 
to  let  her  collect  the  money,  she  said :  "  You  can  come 
to-morrer,"  and  told  me  where  to  meet  her. 

Next  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  I  met  her,  and  we  started 
off  to  Balham  and  Tooting.  It  tested  every  bit  of  my  courage 
and  sang-Jroid  to  get  through  that  day.  Street  after  street  we 
traversed,  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  for  policemen,  who  could, 
if  they  wished,  so  my  companion  informed  me,  "put  us 
inside" — that  is,  lock  us  up. 

I  doubted  this,  since  I  heard  endless  relays  of  street  singers 
and  street  musicians  pursuing  thek  calling  in  many  respectable 
parts  of  London.  But  later,  I  looked  up  the  Act  in  one  of  the 

c 


34  ftbe  Soul  fl&arfeet 

Government  Blue-Books  myself,  and  found  that  singing,  or 
making  "  music  "  in  the  streets,  is  illegal  if  objected  to  by  the 
householders. 

Nevertheless,  I  went  out  with  this  woman  for  several  days, 
and  our  singing  never  got  us  into  trouble.  We  sometimes 
got  as  much  as  threepence  in  one  street,  and  rarely  sang 
through  a  street  without  something  being  given  to  us;  At  the 
end  of  the  first  day  we  had  collected  no  less  than  seven 
shillings  and  tenpence.  This  did  not  surprise  my  companion 
in  the  least,  so  it  was  evidently  by  no  means  a  record.  She 
informed  me  that  on  a  Sunday  morning  or  a  Saturday  after- 
noon, in  a  poor  neighbourhood  as  much  as  ten  shillings 
could  be  earned  in  a  few  hours.  Of  course  much  depends 
on  the  special  knowledge  of  the  singer.  My  companion 
see*ned  to  know  by  instinct  the  streets  to  choose,  and  we 
rarely  got  a  blank  one.  The  street  singers  are  called 
IC  griddlers,"  or  "  needy  griddlers,"  which  is  quite  a  classical 
slang  term. 

I  did  not  stay  with  this  particular  "  griddling  "  friend  long. 
She  took  all  the  money  we  earned,  and  every  night  got  drunk. 
No  persuasions  could  change  her,  so  Mr.  C.  and  I  went  off 
one  day  to  hunt  up  a  woman  he  knew  of  who  haunted  the 
streets  round  Walworth.  He  had  tracked  her  by  inquiries 
straight  to  the  house  where  she  lived.  The  dwelling  was 
tenanted  by  sixteen  families,  though  originally  it  had  been 
meant  for  one  ordinary  household.  Here  we  found  our 
quarry — she  lived  in  a  basement  room  which  I  fancied  must 
have  originally  been  a  store-place  of  some  kind.  The  woman's 
husband  was  then  "  doing  time,"  we  were  told,  and  she  was 
making  her  living  by  singing  in  the  streets  with  her  three 
children. 

I  begged  Mr.  C.  to  try  and  get  me  a  room  in  the  same 
street,  and  this,  after  a  little  difficulty,  he  managed  to  do.  I 


H  "fceatben"  at  tbe  ©pera  35 

soon  managed  to  get  very  friendly  with  the  children  of  the 
woman  we  wished  to  cultivate.  The  eldest  girl  was  about 
fourteen,  the  next  nine,  and  the  youngest  about  three  or  four. 
Poor  mites,  they  were  often  very  hungry  and  cold.  The 
mother  ill-treated  them,  and  sent  them  out  to  sing  when  she 
was  too  ill  after  a  heavy  bout  of  drinking  to  go  out  herself. 
I  went  out  several  times  with  these  children,  and  once  we  got 
as  much  as  three  shillings.  The  eldest  girl  "prigged"  one 
shilling,  but  took  the  other  two  shillings  to  her  mother. 

How  they  loved  and  clung  to  one  another,  those  forlorn 
atoms  for  whom  the  big  world  had  no  place!  They  were 
adepts  at  avoiding  the  school  inspector,  and  contrived  to  pick 
up  food  enough  to  keep  alive.  My  little  bare  room  was  their 
Eden,  and  Ellen,  the  eldest  girl,  gave  me  strange  chapters  of 
history  out  of  the  lives  of  her  neighbours.  In  the  same  house 
with  them  lived  two  "  grizzlers  " — men  who  were  supposed  to 
be  respectively  blind  and  crippled.  Ellen  assured  me  it  was 
all  "  me  eye,"  and  told  me  a  funny  story  of  how  the  crippled 
man  had  chased  her  one  day  when  she  slyly  carried  off  his 
crutch.  The  blind  man,  she  said,  "  swore  hawful,"  and  saw 
"  enough  for  three."  These  two  rogues  earned  a  good  living 
from  the  charitable,  one  playing  a  whistle,  and  the  other 
droning  out  hymns. 

The  class  of  street  beggars  who  make  strange  noises  in 
order  to  call  attention  to  their  misery,  as  the  two  men  I  have 
described,  are  known  as  "  grizzlers."  They  take  up  a  position 
on  the  edge  of  a  busy  street,  and  with  an  old  violin,  or  that 
curious  instrument  known  as  an  accordion,  make  the  air 
hideous  with  discords,  in  order  to  attract  attention.  From 
what  I  myself  have  seen,  I  am  certain  that  any  person  who  so 
stands  in  a  busy  market  street  will  get  more  money  in  an  hour 
than  many  a  working  man  will  earn  in  a  whole  day. 


36  Ube  Soul  /IDarfcet 

I  organised,  about  this  time,  a  little  social  club  for  costet 
lads  and  girls  in  a  room  I  hired  near  Battersea.  There 
I  used  to  go  one  evening  a  fortnight,  to  tell  them  stories, 
and  in  other  ways  help  them  to  be  happy  in  a  civilised  manner 
for  an  hour  or  so.  One  foggy  evening,  as  I  was  returning 
from  our  "party,"  I  heard  through  the  fog  a  sweet,  fresh 
girl's  voice  singing  a  coon  song.  Crossing  the  road  I  dis- 
covered the  singer  to  be  a  pleasant-faced,  neatly-dressed  girl  of 
twenty.  By  her  side  there  stood  an  elderly  woman.  The 
singer  accompanied  herself  upon  a  guitar.  When  she  had 
finished  the  song  she  entered  the  public-house  outside  which 
she  had  been  standing,  leaving  the  elder  woman  outside.  In 
a  few  moments  she  reappeared,  and  handing  some  money  to 
the  other  woman,  said  : 

"  Tenpence,  mother  dear." 

I  was  very  much  interested  in  these  people,  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  them. 

I  learned  that  the  young  woman  called  herself  a  "  chanter," 
and  that  for  four  years  she  had  maintained  her  mother  and  a 
crippled  brother  by  "  chanting."  She  liked  her  life,  and  on 
the  whole  was  well  treated  by  the  frequenters  of  the  public- 
houses  outside  which  she  sang. 

"  We  meet  more  gentlemen  than  cads,"  she  said. 

"  Of  course,  that's  what  we  might  expect,"  said  the  mother, 
and  she  continued  with  some  philosophy :  "  If  there  wasn't 
more  gents  in  the  world  than  cads,  why,  cads  would  be  judges, 
and  we  would  be  all  locked  up  for  being  good." 

Before  I  left  these  people,  I  managed  to  get  the  girl  to 
consent  to  let  me  accompany  her  on  several  evenings  during 
the  following  week. 

This  I  did,  and  my  experience  was  utterly  different  to  that 
I  had  with  the  needy  griddler.  I  called  for  the  girl  at  her 
home,  and  was  shown  into  a  tiny,  but  clean,  neatly-arranged 


a  "ifoeatben"  at  tfee  ©pera  37 

room,  in  a  respectable  street  near  the  Wandsworth  Road: 
Sitting,  propped  up  with  pillows,  on  a  sofa,  was  a  white-faced 
youth,  busily  putting  together  a  cardboard  model  of  a  church. 
The  mother  and  daughter  were  waiting  for  me  when  I  arrived. 
On  the  table  I  noticed  books  and  magazines,  and  I  also 
observed  that  flowers  were  arranged  about  the  room  ;  in  fact, 
the  place  had  an  air  of  refinement  that  astonished  me  when 
I  remembered  where  I  had  met  these  people,  and  how  they 
earned  their  living. 

The  girl  took  up  her  guitar,  and  kissing  her  brother,  bade 
him  good-night. 

A  few  minutes  after,  this  brave  sister  and  I  were  standing 
outside  a  tavern.  For  four  years  this  girl  had  been  thus 
bread-winning  in  every  kind  of  weather.  Every  night  in  the 
week  she  had  her  regular  places  to  sing  at — Brixton,  Chelsea, 
Wandsworth,  Battersea,  Clapham  Junction,  Pimlico.  Every 
night  she  was  to  be  found  in  front  of  one  of  the  taverns  in 
these  districts. 

Hard-working,  courageous  Nellie.  Surely  as  deserving  of 
applause  as  any  prima-donna,  when  one  considers  the  plucky 
way  she  sang  for  those  dear  to  her. 

I  was  very  pleased  with  my  experience  with  Nellie  and  her 
home.  I  stayed  with  these  good  people  for  a  few  days,  paying 
them  a  shilling  a  day  for  my  board  and  lodging.  I  had  a 
small  bed  in  the  tiny  kitchen  and  found  it  warm  and  clean. 
I  helped  Nellie  and  the  old  mother  to  do  the  house-work  and 
cooking,  and  while  I  was  there  Nellie  and  I  went  out  together, 
the  mother  staying  at  home,  greatly  to  her  pleasure.  It 
was  Nellie  who  gave  Mr.  C.  and  me  an  informal  introduc- 
tion to  a  company  of  "buskers"  we  met  one  day  on  our 
rounds. 

I  was  eager  to  know  how  the  party  fared,  and  their  manner 
of  life,  so  Mr.  C.  followed  them  up,  and  some  days  after  came 


3s  ZTbe  Soul  /iDarfcet 

to  tell  me  that  we  had  a  chance  of  "  busking  "—that  is,  of 
giving  a  sort  of  variety  entertainment  in  the  streets. 

I  found  there  were  many  classes  of  these  performers.  As  a 
rule  they  work  in  troupes,  generally  under  a  leader,  who 
arranges  the  "  pitches  "  and  keeps  the  money  until  the  end 
of  the  day,  when  it  is  shared  out.  My  experience  with  a  party 
of  these  people  was  rather  amusing. 

The  leader,  Ben,  possessed  a  very  powerful  voice,  of  course 
absolutely  untrained. 

He  also  possessed  ideas  on  art.  His  criticism  of  my  own 
humble  efforts  were  extremely  embarrassing. 

I  had  been  introduced  by  Mr.  C.  as  a  young  woman  wishing 
to  earn  her  living  as  a  "  busker." 

"Chant  us  a  lay,"  he  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  Sing  something,"  exclaimed  Mr.  C. 

Thus  requested,  I  sang,  in  my  best  manner,  a  verse  of 
"  When  the  Swallows  Homeward  Fly." 

"Urn!  fair,  fair,"  muttered  my  examiner,  "wants  more  go, 
though.  It  ain't  hartistic  enough  neither,  wants  draggin'  out 
a  bit.  Still  I'll  give  her  a  chance  if  Rains  turns  up  drunk 
again  to-night.  I'll  give  him  the  push  and  engage  her,"  he 
said  to  Mr.  C. 

Evidently  the  methods  of  my  many  singing  masters  must 
have  been  all  wrong.  Here,  after  all  my  study,  I  was 
merely  considered  a  possible  stop-gap  by  a  common  street 
singer,  who  only  promised  to  engage  me  in  the  event  of 
one  of  his  company  not  keeping  sober.  Nevertheless,  I 
promised  to  learn  a  song  he  gave  me  and  join  him  later 
in  the  day. 

We  met  about  eight  o'clock  that  evening  in  a  south-western 
suburb.  We  were  five  in  number:  an  elderly,  quiet  man 
who  played  an  instrument  called  an  American  organ ;  a  pale 


B  "  fteatben  "  at  tbe  ©pem  39 

youth  who  played  a  violin;  Ben,  the  leader;  and  Rains, 
a  weak -looking  man  about  thirty,  very  shaky  and  very 
shabby,  but  possessing  a  baritone  voice  of  some  power, 
and  who,  alas  for  my  chances  as  a  street  singer! — to  use 
his  own  description  of  his  condition  —  was  "  painfully 
sober." 

"Never  mind,  my  dear;  we'll  work  five-handed  to-night," 
said  the  leader  to  me.  "You  can  do  the  'nobbing,'"  he 
continued,  and  then  he  put  a  small  box  into  my  hand. 

"Whatever  does  he  mean?"  I  asked  Mr.  C.  in  an 
aside. 

"  Collect  the  money,"  he  whispered. 

Now  I  was  in  for  it  indeed.  A  large  crowd  had  gathered ; 
the  organist  commenced  to  play  at  the  request  of  Ben,  who 
had  given  him  the  cryptic  order  of  "  Set  about  the  dominoes, 
Bill." 

After  a  short  overture,  Ben  stepped  forward  and  announced 
that  he  was  about  to  sing  a  song  of  his  own  composition, 
copies  of  which  would  be  on  sale  at  the  price  of  twopence 
each. 

The  title  of  the  song  was  "  The  Old  Soldier."  After  he 
had  sung  this  masterpiece  in  a  voice  that  might  be  heard 
quite  half  a  mile  away,  he  fell  back  to  my  side;  then,  as 
Rains  commenced  to  sing  "  I  Fear  no  Foe,"  Ben  muttered 
to  me: 

"  Slip  round,  my  girl,  and  '  nob '  'em,  and  mind  you  bring 
it  all  to  light,  and  no  weeding,  no  poling,  mind  yer,  for  if 
yer  do,  I'm  bound  to  bowl  yer." 

This  extraordinary  language  was  afterwards  interpreted  by 
Mr.  C.  to  me :  that  I  was  to  beg  from  the  crowd  for 
coppers,  hand  all  I  received  over  to  the  speaker,  to  keep 
none  for  myself  surreptitiously,  because  if  I  did  he  would 
be  bound  to  find  it  out. 


40  Ube  Soul  flDarfeet 

I  passed  round  the  crowd,  who  melted  away  as  they  grew 
aware  of  my  presence.  It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  disin- 
terested air  of  some  of  the  listeners  who  looked  over  my 
head,  and  passed  on  as  though  they  had  not  noticed  that 
there  had  been  any  singing  or  music  whatever.  Yet  my  box 
grew  gradually  heavier,  and  Ben  gave  quite  a  grunt  of 
satisfaction  when  I  handed  its  contents  to  him. 

That  the  audiences  appreciated  good  music  was  proved  to 
me  that  evening  beyond  doubt.  My  collections  were  nearly 
twice  as  much  each  time  I  went  round  after  Rains  had  sung. 
His  voice  was  good  and  had  been  trained,  and  his  selection 
of  songs  was  good.  The  "  hartistic  hefforts "  of  leader  Ben 
met  with  very  little  favour  from  the  crowds. 

Our  earnings  for  the  night  amounted  to  no  less  a  sum  than 
twenty-seven  shillings.  It  was  apportioned  thus  :  The  organist 
received  five  shillings,  the  boy  violinist  three  shillings,  Rains 
six  shillings ;  to  myself  was  handed  two  shillings  and  sixpence, 
the  balance  being  kept  by  Ben,  to  whom  belonged  the  organ 
and  the  violin. 

As  we  were  wending  our  way  home  that  night,  we  came 
upon  another  party  of  buskers,  and  I  heard  Ben  accost 
the  leader  with  some  strange  salutation,  and  the  following 
conversation  took  place,  which,  bit  by  bit,  I  had  translated : 

"  Graft  good  ?  "  asked  Ben. 

"  Rotten.  Why,  we've  nobbed  four  carses  and  only  touched 
for  a  sprarzer." 

This,  I  was  told,  meant :  «'  Is  work  good  ?  " 

"No,  bad;  I've  begged  at  four  public-houses,  and  only 
received  sixpence." 

We  went  on,  and  Rains,  growing  confidential,  told  us  his 
history. 

It  was  pathetic  enough — the  too  common  story  of  a  wasted 
life.  He  had  been,  when  a  boy,  a  chorister  in  one  of  the 


a  "  toeatben "  at  tbe  ©pera  41 

cathedrals,  and  it  was  there  that  he  had  obtained  his  musical 
education. 

He  left  this  choir  to  join  a  touring  opera  company.  There 
he  fell  in  love  with  one  of  the  women  of  the  company,  married 
her,  and  for  a  few  months  had  been  happy,  when  one  night  he 
found  himself  alone ;  his  wife  had  fled.  From  that  time  he 
gave  way  to  drink  and  dissipation,  gradually  sinking  lower 
and  lower,  until  no  one  could  depend  upon  him. 

As  I  have  said,  his  voice  was  a  good  one,  and  he  had  an 
excellent  knowledge  of  music,  and  sang  with  taste  and  feeling, 
but  poor  Rains  was  a  helpless  and  hopeless  failure. 

My  next  initiation  into  the  art  and  mystery  of  open-air 
performances  was  brought  about  by  an  accident. 

One  evening,  as  I  was  walking  up  that  beautiful  hill  that 
leads  from  Putney  to  Wimbledon,  I  heard  a  piano  being 
played  in  the  street  in  quite  a  charming  way.  On  investi- 
gation, I  found  a  party  of  young  men  and  women  seated  in 
a  van,  in  which  was  also  a  piano.  This  was  being  played  by 
one  of  the  men.  I  saw  that  the  men  and  women  wore  cre'pe 
masks  and  cloaks.  The  pianist  played  with  much  power  and 
excellent  technique  German's  dances  from  "  Nell  Gwynne." 

This  finished,  one  of  the  women  stood  up  and  sang  Tosti's 
"A  Night  in  June."  Her  voice  was  so  sweet,  and  the 
rendering  of  the  song  so  excellent,  that  I  was  delighted. 
Here,  in  the  street,  was  beautiful  music,  sympathetically 
and  artistically  performed  by  people  who  were  nothing 
more  than  buskers.  What  could  it  mean? 

The  party  consisted  of  three  women  and  three  men.  They 
all  sang  and  played.  Then  one  of  the  party  clambered  down 
from  the  van  in  which  they  were  seated,  and  commenced  to 
beg  from  the  large  crowd  they  had  gathered  round  them. 

The  money  simply  poured  into  the  bag.  Almost  every 
person  in  the  crowd  gave  something.  I  even  noticed  that 


42  Ube  Soul  /iDarfeet 

servants  brought  money  from  the  large  houses,  in  front  of 
which  the  performance  had  taken  place. 

This  set  me  thinking.  If  good  music  is  so  much  appre- 
ciated, why  is  there  not  more  of  it  in  the  London  streets  ? 
Why  is  itinerant  music  so  neglected?  Now  and  then  one 
hears  a  good  voice  or  a  fair  performer  on  some  instrument  in 
the  street,  but,  alas!  they  are  chiefly  of  the  unfortunate 
Rains  type. 

I  pictured  a  party  such  as  this  of  masked  buskers, 
periodically  visiting  and  singing  in  some  of  our  dismal 
slums.  I  truly  believe  that  it  would  have  a  wonderful 
influence  on  the  lives  of  even  the  terribly  degraded  inhabitants 
of  those  places. 

Deep  down  in  the  hearts  of  even  the  vilest  is  some  broken 
thought  of  good,  which  might  be  waked  by  the  song  that  would 
reach  the  heart.  That  the  poorer  classes  of  our  rich  city  have 
a  love,  an  uneducated  love  perhaps,  but  an  existing  one,  for 
pure  melody  and  tender  song,  is  apparent  to  everyone  who 
knows  them  intimately 

Let  a  vulgar  music-hall  song  contain  but  one  line  of 
brotherly  feeling,  one  touch  of  the  "  fellow-feeling  that  makes 
us  wondrous  kind,"  and  the  song  will  be  a  popular  one  ;  and 
even  if,  as  is,  alas  !  so  often  the  case,  a  pretty  melody  is  wedded 
to  the  most  inane  words,  yet  for  its  melody  alone  the  song 
will  be  sung  from  end  to  end  of  the  town. 

I  soon  tired  of  my  busking  expedition,  however,  and 
hungered  for  a  chance  of  getting  right  down  among  the 
poorest  poor.  Mr.  C.  suggested  that  we  would  be  likely  to 
gain  some  unique  knowledge  by  becoming  "  organ-grinders." 
The  idea  pleased  me  vastly.  I  begged  him  to  set  about 
starting  me  in  the  profession. 

Till  I  visited  Italy,  and  learned  the  conditions  under  which 
the  people  labour  there,  I  could  not  understand  why  any 


H  "Deatben"  at  tbe  ©pera  43 

person  gifted  with  intellect,  could  voluntarily  leave  a  country 
of  warmth  and  sunshine,  to  push  a  barrowful  of  indifferent 
music,  called  a  piano-organ,  through  the  mud  and  fog  of  a 
London  street.  The  matter  is  no  more  a  mystery  to  me,  now 
that  I  know  something  of  the  lives  of  the  Italian  poor  in  their 
own  land,  as  compared  with  the  lives  of  the  Southerners  of 
Saffron  Hill. 

Right  opposite  Leather  Lane,  across  the  Clerkenwell  Road, 
is  Eyre  Street  Hill,  the  London  home  of  the  Italians.  This 
hill  leads  down  to  a  number  of  irregular  streets.  Groups  of 
Italian  women  sit  at  the  doors  looking  picturesque  in  print 
bodices  and  gay  -  coloured  skirts,  and  the  usual  gaudy 
kerchief  thrown  over  the  head  and  tied  with  careless  grace  in 
front.  There  is  an  air  of  Southern  repose  and  lazy  indifference 
about  the  place. 

Lounging  against  the  walls  are  numbers  of  dark,  swarthy 
men,  wearing  ear-rings  and  slouch  hats.  Parties  of  dark-eyed 
children  tumble  on  the  pavement  or  play  in  the  road.  One 
of  their  games  consists  in  gambling  for  walnuts.  Here  and 
there  stand  those  gaudy  -  coloured  barrows  from  which  is 
vended  that  luxury  of  the  children  of  the  slums,  "  hokey-pokey," 
or  street  ice-cream ;  "  Italiano  Ice  Creamo,"  made  in  "  Italy- 
in-London,"  is  not  by  any  means  desirable. 

From  a  dark  cellar  an  unarmed  bandit  emerges,  engaged 
to-day,  however,  in  the  pursuit  of  piano-organ  playing.  A 
more  peaceable,  though  nevertheless  a  cruel  method  of 
mulcting  the  personal  property  of  his  victims,  than  when  on 
his  sunny  mountains  he  ear-lopped  for  ransom. 

This  man,  being  a  friend  of  Mr.  C.'s,  kindly  took  us  in 
hand  and  made  Saffron  Hill  familiar  to  us.  Here  are  situated 
the  principal  premises  of  the  manufacturers  and  owners  of 
the  piano-organs  that  are  played  in  London.  From  here  may 
be  hired  organs  by  the  day,  week,  or  month.  To  this  place 


44  TTbe  Soul 

Mr.  C.  and  I  made  our  way,  conducted  by  our  friend.  He 
introduced  us  to  the  warehouse-master,  who  was  also  of  Italy  ; 
and  after  some  haggling  as  to  price  and  the  deposit  we  had  to 
leave  as  guarantee  for  the  safe  return  of  the  organ,  we  started 
out  on  an  expedition,  the  object  of  which  was  to  find  by  personal 
experience  how  much  or  how  little  can  be  gained  in  a  day  by 
this  means.  Poor  Mr.  C.  pulled  the  organ  up  the  hill  into 
the  Clerkenwell  Road,  then  stopped  breathless.  One  thing  he 
had  discovered  already,  and  that  is  that  organ-pulling  is  not 
easy  work.  After  tramping  and  playing  in  almost  every  class 
of  street  from  Clerkenwell  to  Chelsea,  from  9  a.m.  to  8.30  p.m., 
with  only  two  hours  for  rest,  our  earnings  amounted  to  four 
shillings  and  fivepence,  not  a  lucrative  day's  work,  one  must 
admit,  for  two  people,  with  the  hire  of  the  organ  to  be  paid  for 
out  of  the  takings. 

I  never  see  Italian  women  pulling  these  heavy  barrows  but 
my  heart  goes  out  to  them.  They  have  to  work  so  hard  for 
such  small  returns.  I  must  admit  I  have  a  very  kindly  feeling 
for  these  children  of  the  sunny  South,  whose  advent  with  their 
organ  is  so  eagerly  welcomed  by  the  poor  children  of  many 
a  dismal  court  and  alley.  They  bring  a  little  music  and 
pleasure  into  the  lives  of  many  who,  but  for  these  organs, 
would  never  hear  a  happy  sound.  The  working  folk,  too, 
appreciate  the  music  of  the  street-organs.  During  our 
peregrinations,  Mr.  C.  and  I  stopped  outside  a  large  factory, 
as  the  girls  were  coming  out  at  the  dinner-hour.  We  struck 
up  a  lively  tune,  and  immediately  about  twenty  of  these  rather 
limp-looking  girls  "set  to"  and  began  dancing  with  much 
spirit  and  real  enjoyment.  It  was  a  delicious  relief  to  them 
to  fling  themselves  about  to  the  lilt  of  merry  tunes  after 
hours  of  toiling  in  a  close  factory.  For  the  gladness  these 
organs  bring  to  the  little  slum  children  and  the  poor,  we  must 
be  tolerant  of  them  and  their  owners, 


a  "  toeatfeen  "  at  tbe  ©pera  45 

A  hideous  evil,  however,  that  exists  not  only  in  London 
but  in  many  of  the  large  cities  in  Britain,  is  the  Italian 
padrone,  who  brings  over  numbers  of  little  boys,  and  keeps 
them  in  a  state  of  slavery — treating  them  like  animals,  and 
sending  them  out  into  the  streets  with  concertinas  and 
monkeys,  to  beg.  One  awful  case  of  slavery  of  this  kind 
came  under  my  own  knowledge,  and  through  friends,  I  was 
able  to  rescue  three  unfortunate  children  who  were  the  slaves 
of  a  great  brute  of  a  "  padrone." 

This  man  kept  the  boys  in  a  cellar.  They  had  no  beds, 
but  slept  on  a  heap  of  rags  cuddled  up  with  the  monkeys  to 
keep  themselves  and  the  poor  beasties  warm.  If  they  returned 
home  with  less  than  a  shilling  each  night,  the  padrone  beat 
them  cruelly,  and  they  got  no  food  at  all.  There  is  not  a 
single  word  that  can  be  said  in  defence  of  a  practice  that 
places  helpless  children  in  the  hands  of  men  such  as  these. 
Indeed,  that  such  slavery  should  be  countenanced  by  English 
law  and  the  British  people  is  shameful.  It  is  a  common  story 
enough  to  find  these  tiny  child-slaves  working  their  little  lives 
away  to  keep  a  hulking  brute  of  a  master  who  owns  them, 
body  and  soul 

During  my  sojourn  with  the  poor  and  outcast  at  different 
times  I  came  upon  many  such  horrors,  which,  if  our  politicians 
really  cared  for  the  welfare  of  the  people  at  home,  could  not 
exist. 


CHAPTER  III 

UP    AND    DOWN    THE    SOCIAL    LADDER — FROM    A    SOCIETY 
"  CRUSH  "   TO  THE    "  SPIKE  " — THE   PRICE  OF   A    SOUL 

IT  is  an  ungracious  task  to  accept  people's  hospitality  and 
make  unkind  criticisms  on  the  manner  of  the  entertainment. 
It  must  be  understood,  therefore,  that  in  no  case  where  I 
give  an  account  of  society  functions,  are  those  functions 
places  where  I  myself  have  partaken  of  hospitality  as  a  private 
friend.  If  I  have  gone  to  these  places  it  has  been  either 
professionally  to  recite,  or  else  I  have  been  included  as  a 
guest  because  of  belonging  to  some  Club  or  Society  which 
was  being  entertained.  In  the  East  it  is  considered  the  very 
depth  of  infamy  to  eat  a  man's  salt  and  betray  him.  In  the 
West  it  is  constantly  done.  A  thousand  times  I  have  met 
both  men  and  women  who,  after  they  have  been  graciously 
entertained  and  kindly  treated,  abuse  their  hosts  and  hostesses, 
and  pour  contempt  on  the  hospitality  that  has  been  extended 
to  them.  Indeed,  this  passion  for  abusing  society  has  proved 
a  gold  mine  to  several  writers  who  would  otherwise  have 
remained  unknown  to  fame,  but  for  the  fact  that  every  season 
they  appear  in  print  with  a  volume  of  vituperation  against 
"  Society." 

A  most  amusing  article,  written  by  a  Labour  member  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  appeared  some  weeks  ago  in  a  weekly 
journal.  The  good,  innocent  man  seemed  to  think  that  all 
the  immorality  and  heartlessness  of  the  world  was  concentrated 
in  the  decolhttt  bosoms  of  the  ladies  promenading  on  the 

46 


"dp  ano  Down  tbe  Social  Xaooer         47 

Terrace.  He  speaks  of  the  insolence  of  beautiful  dress,  and 
goes  on  to  say :  "  Does  a  woman  know  how  insolent  a 
gleaming  white  shoulder  "  (one  shoulder,  mind  you,  not  both) 
"  may  appear  to  a  man  dressed  in  tweed  ?  Does  she  realise 
the  peculiar  effect  of  the  demi- diaphanous  drapery  in  which 
she  clothes,  or  half-clothes  herself?"  The  frou-frou  of  the 
silken  petticoat  made  what  he  considered  a  "  peculiar  sound." 
He  goes  on  to  say :  "  A  few  evenings  ago  I  saw  one  woman 
sauntering  along  the  Terrace  who  seemed  the  very  incarnation 
of  the  spirit  of  society.  Her  corsage  glittered  with  ostentatious 
wealth.  Diamonds  were  in  her  hair  and  pendent  from  her 
ears.  The  high,  jewelled  comb  she  wore  would  have  paid  a 
skilled  workman's  wages  for  the  last  twelve  months. 

"This  woman,  wearing  a  V-shaped  corsage  cut  from  her 
shapely  shoulders  down  almost  to  her  waist,  walked  the 
Terrace  without  a  hint  of  shame.  That  men  should  see  her 
naked  flesh  gave  her  no  qualm.  Her  poorer  sisters  over  the 
river  in  the  slums  of  Lambeth  and  the  Lower  Marsh  would 
have  hastily  drawn  a  shawl  over  their  shoulders,  were  they 
never  so  shapely  and  good  to  look  upon.  But  this  insolent 
beauty  walked  without  a  blush,  chattering  to  her  black-coated 
companion,  and  ever  and  again  staring  at  some  '  queer ' 
creature  lately  elected  to  the  privileges  of  Parliament. 

"It's  a  strange  world,  and  there's  no  stranger  place  in  it 
than  St.  Stephen's.  Because  it  has  amused  me  to  study  these 
birds  of  passage,  flaunting  their  borrowed  plumage  on  the 
Terrace,  I  have  not  forgotten  the  comely  daughters  of  my 
own  race,  the  splendid  women  whose  looks  would  put  to 
shame  these  artificial  beauties.  In  the  ranks  of  labour  you 
will  find  less  display  of  shoulders  and  bosoms,  unless,  I  grant 
you,  in  the  exercise  of  those  maternal  functions  which  the 
rich,  I  am  told,  have  long  ago  delegated  to  artificial 
substitutes." 


4s  Ube  Soul  fl&arftet 

Now  I  have  made  holiday  with  'Arry  and  'Arriet  at  'Appy 
'Ampstead.  They  changed  hats  and  coats.  They  pushed 
and  slapped  each  other  with  a  charming  familiarity,  and  on 
occasion,  punched  each  other's  heads.  Also,  I  have  lived 
with  the  charming  sisters  of  Lambeth  and  the  Lower  Marsh, 
whom  this  gentleman  seems  to  regard  as  models  of  virtue. 
Unfortunately,  however,  facts  do  not  corroborate  this  gentle- 
man's fanciful  statements.  If  the  women  of  Lambeth  do  not 
wear  low-necked  dresses  and  jewels,  they  often  go  about  in  a 
petticoat  and  filthy  blouse  because  they  have  pawned  their 
skirts.  They  are  often  drunk  and  foul-mouthed.  They 
neglect  their  homes,  and  gossip  in  the  streets  and  drink  in  the 
public-houses.  There  is  as  much  immorality,  as  much  greed, 
dishonesty,  and  vice  among  the  poor  as  there  is  among  the 
rich;  indeed,  how  should  it  be  otherwise?  Consider  their 
surroundings.  Stumbling  up  a  pair  of  back  stairs  to  a  little 
room  I  once  took  in  one  of  the  slums  at  Lambeth,  I  almost 
fell  over  a  tiny  child  of  three,  who  was  picking  holes  in  the 
plaster  of  the  walls.  The  place  was  broken  down  and 
dilapidated,  unfit  for  the  housing  of  animals,  but  here  several 
scores  of  miserable  human  creatures  herded  in  indecency  and 
immorality.  The  little  child  looked  up,  and  in  a  lisping  baby 
voice  said : 

"  Dod  blast  yer ! "  The  only  use  that  he  knew  of  the 
Almighty  Name  was  to  blaspheme  with  it. 

The  spirit  of  extravagance  and  carelessness  which  is  so 
much  discussed  in  the  daily  press  and  contemporary  novels 
is  not  by  any  means  confined  to  one  class.  I  have  lived  with 
coster  women  whose  earnings  were  from  ;£i  to  305.  a  week, 
and  have  found  them  buying  tins  of  salmon  and  potted  meats, 
and  various  other  preserved  delicacies,  rather  than  take  the 
trouble  to  cook  a  wholesome  meal  of  fresh  food.  It  is 
indeed  this  passion  of  laziness,  which  is  characteristic  of 


anfc  Sown  tfoe  Social  Xatoer         49 

the  times,  that  is  responsible  for  half  the  crime  in  our 
daily  history. 

On  one  occasion  I  had  an  engagement  through  an  agent 
to  recite  at  a  society  function  in  Piccadilly.  The  hostess, 
on  this  occasion,  was  a  rich  woman,  who  was  bartering  her 
health  and  comfort  and  much  of  her  money  to  get  into  what 
she  fondly  hoped  was  "  Society."  She  had  invited  that  night 
some  two  thousand  people,  not  more  than  a  hundred  of  whom 
she  knew  personally.  These  people  were  invited  through 
various  clubs  and  society  leaders  who  were  paid  for  collecting 
a  horde  of  guests.  The  lady  had  provided  for  their  entertain  • 
ment  a  concert  and  dramatic  recitals,  contributed  to  by  some 
of  the  most  eminent  artistes  of  the  day.  The  agent  who 
engaged  me  told  me  that  she  had  placed  .£1,000  in  his  hands 
to  have  a  distinguished  programme. 

On  that  autumn  evening  I  arrived  at  the  house,  or  rather 
my  cab  stood  in  the  street  for  an  hour  before  it  could  draw  up 
at  the  door  to  deposit  me,  and  here  I  was  bundled  into  a 
struggling  mass  of  humanity  which  was  fighting,  pushing,  and 
kicking  its  way  upstairs.  A  kindly  butler  caught  my  eve,  and 
I  said  to  him  : 

"  I  shall  really  have  to  get  upstairs  somehow." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  will  be  a  matter  of  time, 
miss,"  he  said.  However,  I  managed  to  get  near  enough  to 
him  and  slipped  five  shillings  into  his  hand. 

"Get  me  up  somehow,"  I  said. 

He  took  me  round  to  some  back  passage,  and  I  got  to  the 
top  by  way  of  the  servants'  staircase.  We  walked  through  a 
long  corridor,  and  passed  through  several  side-doors,  and 
presently  I  found  myself  behind  a  huge  curtain  which  shut 
off  the  drawing-room.  I  did  not  see  my  hostess  till  one 
o'clock  that  night,  when  she  thanked  me  for  my  part  in  the 

programme,   and   begged  me  to  go  down   and  have  some 

D 


so  trbe  Soul  fl&arfcet 

supper.  A  gentleman  I  knew  kindly  undertook  to  pilot  me 
through  the  awful  crowd  which  had  fought  its  way  through 
the  beautiful  rooms.  In  the  great  dining-hall,  adorned  with 
armour  and  hunting  trophies  of  dead-and-gone  heroes  who 
had  not  the  remotest  connection  with  the  owners  of  the  house, 
the  crowd  pushed  and  struggled  for  the  dainty  food  provided. 
It  was  as  though  a  horde  of  famine-stricken  creatures  had 
been  let  loose  at  a  feast.  When  the  food  was  consumed, 
the  crowd  fought  its  way  again  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
the  famous  singers  and  musicians  were  performing.  They 
did  their  duty,  and  each  in  turn  discoursed  sweet  music  to 
the  extent  for  which  they  were  paid.  The  crowd  surged 
towards  them  in  a  fruitless  effort  to  see  and  hear.  The  buzz 
of  talk  never  ceased.  The  distinguished  artistes,  mostly 
foreigners,  with  legitimate  claims  to  fame,  departed,  to  sneer 
at  the  fools  who  paid  them  fabulous  fees  without  even  caring 
to  hear  their  music.  The  unfortunate  host  stood  against  the 
wall  of  each  room  successively,  with  a  hopeless,  bored  ex- 
pression on  his  face.  Once  in  a  while  he  saw  a  familiar 
figure  and  spoke  to  the  owner,  but  the  greetings  were  few 
and  brief,  I  wondered  what  manner  of  people  these  were 
who  bartered  their  comfort  and  dignity  for  the  sake  of 
advertisement.  I  saw  several  well-known  journalists  in  the 
crowd.  Each  one  who  spoke  to  me  remarked  on  the 
discomfort  and  struggle  there  had  been  to  force  an  entry 
Into  the  house.  I  looked  forward  with  extreme  interest  to 
the  notices  of  this  entertainment  in  the  press.  One  weekly 
journal  gave  a  long  account  of  the  affair,  saying :  "  Mrs. 
So-and-So  has  really  grasped  the  whole  art  of  entertainment ; 
her  supper  was  recherche,  the  flowers  were  costly  and  beautiful, 
the  wines  beyond  reproach,  and  to  crown  all,  being  of  an 
artistic  temperament  herself,  she  had  gathered  into  her 
beautiful  salon  some  of  the  stars  of  the  musical  and 


an&  town  t&e  Social  Xatoer         51 

dramatic  profession.  Everyone  was  charmed  with  the 
hostess's  gracious  entertainment."  I  suppose  Mrs.  So-and-So 
must  have  felt  her  couple  of  thousand  pounds  were  well 
invested ;  but  I  thought  of  the  entertainment  with  mixed 
feelings  when,  a  few  nights  later,  I  found  myself  on  the 
wet  steps  of  the  Embankment  in  company  with  a  wretched 
creature  who,  for  ten  shillings  a  week,  could  have  been  made 
happy  and  comfortable  for  the  remainder  of  her  poor  old  life. 

I  stumbled  over  the  miserable  bundle  of  rags  somewhere  on 
the  steps  by  Westminster  Bridge. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  said. 

"I'm  knocked,  that's  wot's  the  matter;  ill,  'ungry,  and 
knocked."  The  words  came  in  despairing  groans. 

The  poor  old  woman  was  indeed  a  woeful  spectacle, 
huddled  up  on  the  slimy  stones,  as  she  turned  her  poor, 
sorrow-lined  face  to  mine.  The  light  of  the  flickering  gas- 
lamp  overhead  revealed  the  fact  that  she  was  very  feeble  and 
very  old.  The  few  thin,  straggling  locks  of  hair  escaping 
from  the  rain-soaked  bonnet  were  white.  She  was  wet  and 
cold,  and  shiveringly  drew  her  ragged  shawl  more  tightly 
round  her  weary  old  body. 

"Why  are  you  sitting  here?  Have  you  no  friends,  no 
home?"  I  asked. 

"  'Ome !     I  ain't  got  no  'ome,"  she  said. 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  go  into  the  workhouse  ? "  I 
questioned. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  'ave  to.  I've  kep'  out  as  long  as  I  can," 
she  groaned;  "but,  my  Gawd,  I'll  'ave  to." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  evident  horror  this  miserable, 
almost  dying  old  woman  had  for  the  workhouse. 

It  surprised  me.  "  Why  ?  "  I  asked  myself.  "  Surely  no 
place  nor  condition  this  side  of  the  grave  could  be  worse  than 
she  now  finds  herself  in  ?  " 


s»  Ube  Soul  /l&arfcet 

Ratepayers,  Boards  of  Guardians,  and  the  Local  Government 
Board  provide  and  organise  homes  and  refuges  for  helpless 
and  poverty-stricken  creatures,  such  as  the  poor  woman 
who  lay  moaning  and  shivering  here  at  my  feet,  yet  she, 
like  many  others  of  her  class,  dreaded  to  accept  this 
charity. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  observed  a  terror  of 
entering  the  workhouse  exhibited  by  a  starving  and  destitute 
person. 

"Can  there  be  a  reason  for  this  dread  of  'the  big  'ouse,'" 
I  thought,  "  or  is  it  mere  prejudice  only  ?  " 

Standing  on  those  draughty,  rain-washed  steps,  I  determined 
to  probe  this  question  to  the  root,  and  find  out  by  personal 
experience  the  conditions  prevailing  in  some,  at  least,  of  these 
refuges  provided  for  the  homeless  and  forlorn. 

Stooping  down  I  asked  the  poor  old  creature  to  let  me 
assist  her  up  the  steps,  and  invited  her  to  come  with  me  to  a 
coffee  -  stall  which  I  knew  always  stood  at  this  time  in  the 
morning  opposite  Somerset  House. 

I  had  scarcely  raised  the  tottering  woman  from  the  stones 
when  I  heard  the  measured  tramp  of  feet  descending  the  steps, 
and  a  moment  later,  the  light  from  a  policeman's  lamp  was 
turned  upon  my  companion  and  myself. 

"  Now  then,  my  gals,  up  and  out  of  this.  Look  slippy,  the 
Sergeant  will  be  round  in  a  minute,"  the  constable  said,  in  a 
manner  that  I  thought  not  unkindly. 

"This  poor  woman  is  ill,  Officer,"  I  said. 

"Why  don't  she  go  into  the  'orspital  or  the  hinfirmary, 
then  ?  "  and  stooping  down,  he  took  her  arm  and  said  :  "  Wot's 
up,  mother  ?  " 

u  111,  sir,  and  broke,"  she  said. 

"  You  looks  it,"  he  muttered. 

"  Will  you  help  me  to  get  her  up  to  the  top  of  the  steps  ?  " 


"dp  ano  Down  tfoe  Social  OLaoDet         53 

I  said.  "  If  you  can  do  this,  I  will  give  her  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee." 

"All  right,  miss — come  along,  old  lady,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly,  and  helped  by  his  strong  arm  we  soon  had  the 
suffering  creature  into  the  roadway. 

"  Go  and  'ave  a  cup  of  coffee  with  this  girl,  mother,  and 
take  my  advice,  go  into  the  workhouse  as  soon  as  you  can  get 
in  this  morning." 

This  was  his  parting  advice  as  he  disappeared  down  the 
steps  on  his  way  to  the  Embankment. 

At  the  coffee-stall  I  procured  for  her  hot  coffee,  bread  and 
butter,  and  an  egg,  which  she  devoured  like  a  famished  animal. 
After  her  meal  she  felt  better,  then  I  began  to  question  her 
with  reference  to  her  hatred  of  the  workhouse. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "the  'spike'  is  worse  than  the 
prison." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  '  spike '  ?  "  I  askea. 

"Why;  the  casual  ward,"  she  said,  surprised  at  my 
question. 

"  Surely  it  is  better  to  be  there  than  out  all  night  in  such 
weather  as  this.  Why  do  you  fear  it  so  much?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  it  ain't ;  but  I  hate  it,  they  bully 
you  so.  It's  just  awful." 

"Well,  I  intend  going  in  myself  to-day,"  I  said. 

"  You  ! "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.   "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  But  you've  got  some  money,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you  go  in 
with  any  money  on  yer  they  can  lock  you  up." 

"  I  haven't  much  money,"  I  said,  "  not  more  than  we  must 
spend  on  a  good  breakfast.  After  that  you  and  I  will  go  straight 
to  the  nearest  casual  ward  and  ask  them  to  take  us  in." 

"  All  right,  me  dear,  so  we  will.  I  can't  do  another  night  on 
the  stones,  it  will  kill  me ;  but  we  mustn't  go  to  the  nearest 


54  Ube  Soul  /l&arftet 

place,"  she  said.  "  I  was  there  a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  and  if 
they  caught  me  there  again  in  less  than  a  month,  they'd  put  me 
in  a  cell,  give  me  oakum  to  pick,  and  keep  me  in  for  five 
nights." 

"  Are  you  not  allowed  to  go  into  a  casual  ward  more  than 
once  in  a  month  ?  "  I  asked,  astonished  at  this  information. 

"  That's  all — that  is,  in  London  casual  wards.  And  you  are 
supposed  to  go  fourteen  miles  before  you  go  into  another 
spike,"  she  continued. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  a  weak  old  woman  like  you  is 
obliged  to  walk  that  distance  between  casual  ward  and  casual 
ward?" 

"  Yes,  my  gal,  or  if  you  don't  you're  a-breakin'  the  lor ;  so 
what  we'll  do,"  she  continued,  "  we'll  go  across  the  water  to 

the  L spike,  then  we'll  tell  them  that  we've  come  from 

'Arrow,  and  that  we're  a-goin'  to  Croydon,  then  we'll  be  all 
right." 

To  this  ingenious  proposition  I  agreed. 

"  We  shall  'ave  to  sit  about  in  the  park  for  an  hour  or  two," 
she  said,  "  'cause  we  can't  get  in  afore  one  o'clock." 

So  we  went  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  one  of  the  parks.  At 
twelve  o'clock  we  started  off  to  the  dreaded  "spike."  We 
arrived  at  our  destination  just  before  one  o'clock.  When  we 
reached  this  place  there  were  ten  other  poorly-clad  women  stand- 
ing in  a  row  in  front  of  the  red  brick  building,  which  I  guessed 
was  to  be  our  place  of  refuge  from  the  street.  We  silently 
joined  the  ragged  file,  and  soon  after  a  neighbouring  clock  struck 
one.  Almost  on  the  stroke  of  the  hour,  a  young  man,  clad  in 
a  neat  uniform,  came  from  a  building  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  and  crossing  over  to  where  we  stood,  he  unlocked 
an  iron  gate  which  shut  off  a  covered  courtyard  from  the 
street. 

M  Look  alive !  "  he  said,  in  a  surly  manner,  and  the  women 


"dp  an&  Down  tbe  Social  Xafcfcer         55 

filed  past  him  into  the  yard.  When  we  had  all  entered,  he 
relocked  the  gate  and  went  back  to  his  office. 

One  by  one  the  women  sat  down  on  the  cold  paving-stones 
with  their  backs  to  the  wall: 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,"  said  my  old  companion;  "it's  as 
cheap  as  standin'. " 

"  But  shall  we  have  to  wait  long  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Till  four  o'clock,"  was  the  dreary  response. 

"  Won't  they  give  us  anything  to  do,  or  let  us  into  shelter 
until  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No.   At  four  o'clock  they  admits  us ;  till  then  we  waits  'ere." 

This  was  a  fact.  For  three  hours  fourteen  starving,  shivering 
women,  one  with  a  young  baby,  had  to  crouch  on  the  stones 
in  a  draughty  yard,  with  not  even  a  seat  provided.  There  we 
waited,  a  pitiful  company,  exposed  to  the  curious  view  of  every 
passer-by.  The  iron  gate  which  shut  us  off  from  the  public 
thoroughfare  was  no  screen  to  hide  our  misery  from  the 
curious,  contemptuous,  or  indifferent  passers-by. 

The  lagging  minutes  dragged  on  till  it  was  four  o'clock,  and 
the  young  man  in  uniform  again  appeared.  He  marshalled 
us  into  an  office. 

Seated  at  a  desk  was  another  male  official,  in  front  of  him 
a  large  book,  and  at  his  side  a  young,  strong-looking  woman, 
wearing  a  uniform  something  like  that  worn  by  a  hospital 
nurse.  As  each  woman  passed  in  front  of  the  desk,  a 
number  of  questions  were  asked  :  "  Name  ?  "  "  Occupation  ?  " 
"Age?"  "Where  born?"  "Where  from?"  " Where  to?" 
Each  question,  swiftly  and  abruptly  flung  at  the  woman 
before  the  desk,  was  answered  with  more  or  less  truth  by 
each  applicant. 

The  answers  were  entered  in  the  book,  often  without  even 
a  look  at  the  speaker. 

After  my  replies   had  been  entered,  I  was   told  by  the 


§6  ftbe  Soul  flDarfcet 

young  woman  to  pass  on  into  a  long,  bare  room.  This 
room  was  also  unprovided  with  seats,  and  in  there  the 
"casuals"  had  to  stand  until  all  had  been  questioned  in 
the  office.  By  this  time  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock.  We 
were  at  last  all  gathered  in  the  room;  then  the  young 
woman  official  entered,  and  ordered  us  to  pass  her  one  by 
one  to  be  searched.  She  did  not  touch  me,  but  asked  me 
what  I  had  in  my  pocket.  I  said  truthfully :  "  Nothing." 
She  then  bade  me  pass  through  into  another  room. 

In  this  room  was  a  sort  of  window,  with  a  sliding  panel, 
similar  to  a  window  at  a  railway  ticket-office.  Through  this 
was  passed  out  to  each  of  us  a  tin  mug  and  a  piece  of  bread. 
The  mug  was  filled  with  a  thick,  white  mixture,  which  I 
learned  to  know  as  "skilly" — a  sort  of  coarse,  half-liquid 
oatmeal  porridge,  without  seasoning.  On  the  edge  of  the 
window  was  a  wooden  salt-cellar.  I  was  told  we  could 
help  ourselves  to  salt,  and  we  all  did  so  to  mitigate  the 
horrid  taste  of  the  gluey  stuff  in  the  mugs.  In  the  room 
were  two  long,  bare  tables,  and  on  either  side  of  them  were 
placed  rough  benches  without  backs.  Here,  at  last,  we  were 
able  to  sit  down.  By  this  time  I  was  genuinely  hungry,  and 
tried  to  eat  the  bread  and  porridge,  but  found  it  difficult. 
The  bread  I  ate;  but  not  then,  or  ever,  could  I  manage 
to  swallow  the  skilly.  Why  this  mess  is  given,  I  cannot 
understand.  Why  not  a  good  basin  of  cocoa  or  even  tea? 
It  would  hardly  cost  more,  and  would  certainly  be  more 
humane.  But  the  only  food  I  had  in  this  place,  or  in  any 
casual  ward  I  entered,  was  the  same  as  this  meal,  excepting 
that  at  dinner  a  piece  of  cheese  was  given  with  the  bread. 

When  we  had  finished  our  meal,  the  young  woman  who 
had  asked  us  to  give  up  to  her  our  belongings  came  into  the 
room  and  ordered  us  to  the  bath-room.  Following  her  up 
some  stone  stairs,  I  found  myself  in  a  long,  narrow  room, 


TOip  ano  Sown  tbe  Social  Xaofcer         57 

in  which  were  four  earthenware  baths.  In  this  bath-room 
was  a  woman  attendant,  wearing  a  workhouse  uniform. 
Four  casuals  at  a  time  entered  the  bath  -  room ;  they 
undressed  and  fastened  their  clothes  into  a  bundle.  This 
done,  they  were  told  to  put  them  on  a  form  on  one  side 
of  the  room ;  then  the  baths  were  filled  with  hot  water  by 
the  attendant.  The  place  was  scrupulously  clean,  but  the 
same  bath  was  used  for  three  paupers.  Fortunately,  I  got 
a  clean  bath.  My  "sisters  in  misfortune"  were  extremely 
averse  to  taking  the  baths  at  all,  and  on  my  remarking  to 
one  of  the  women  that  it  would  make  her  more  comfortable, 
1  was  astonished  to  see  a  sneer  cross  her  face  and  to  hear 
her  remark : 

"  Baths !  I'm  sick  of  baths ;  wherever  yer  go,  yer  gits 
baths.  Sickenin'  I  call  'em." 

This,  I  am  afraid,  is  quite  a  real  grievance  to  the  lowest 
and  more  degraded  casuals.  In  some  places,  unfortunately, 
such  cleanliness  does  not  prevail  in  the  casual  ward  baths, 
as  I  discovered  later. 

After  the  bath,  each  woman  was  given  a  night-dress.  It 
was  clean,  and  did  not  appear  to  have  been  worn  since  it 
had  been  laundried. 

Attired  in  this,  I  was  sent  across  a  stone  passage  into  a 
long  dormitory.  Ranged  on  either  side  of  this  room  were 
ten  beds.  Though  not  soft,  they  were  clean.  Sheets, 
blankets,  and  good  pillows  were  provided.  I  think  that  the 
beds  were  equal  to  those  one  would  find  in  dormitories  of 
orphanages  or  convent  schools  both  here  and  abroad.  I 
have  visited  many  such  and  found  similar  cots.  I  went 
to  bed,  and  after  listening  to  the  grumbling  remarks  of  the 
old  women  on  either  side  of  me  for  some  time,  went  to 
sleep.  The  hospitality,  though  cold  and  heartless,  was 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  exposure  of  the  cruel  streets,  but 


ss  Ube  Soul  /i&arfeet 

afterwards,  during  other  visits  of  investigation,  I  encountered 
such  brutality  in  these  places  that  I  sympathised  with  the 
wretched  outcasts  who  shrank  from  entering  them. 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  I  was  wakened  by  the  young 
woman  who  had  ordered  us  to  our  supper  and  bath  shaking 
me.  I  had  to  cross  to  the  bath-room,  get  my  clothes,  and 
dress. 

When  I  had  dressed,  I  was  told  to  go  to  the  dining-room. 
I  did  so,  and  found  on  the  table  several  tin  mugs  of  skilly 
and  several  pieces  of  bread.  This  was  breakfast. 

A  short  grace  was  said  and  we  commenced  to  eat.  Break- 
fast finished,  we  were  detailed  to  different  duties.  I  was  sent 
into  the  laundry.  This  was  a  large,  well-appointed  place, 
fitted  with  machinery.  The  laundry  was  under  the  supervision 
of  a  healthy,  pleasant-looking  woman,  who  seemed  to  know  by 
name  several  of  the  women  who  had  been  sent  with  me  to 
work  under  her. 

"Can  you  iron?"  she  asked  me. 

"  I  can  try,"  I  answered. 

"Very  well,  then;  go  over  to  that  ironing-table  and  iron 
those  night-shirts,"  she  said,  not  ungraciously,  having  marked 
my  willingness  to  work. 

I  did  the  best  I  could.  I  noticed  that  several  of  the  women 
appeared  to  be  quite  expert  laundresses. 

I  worked  on  until  noon.  There  seemed  to  be  no  restriction 
as  to  talking,  and  we  were  all  talking  when  the  matron  and 
the  dreaded  "  inspector  "  entered.  This  man  looked  at  every 
"  casual "  closely,  then  passed  out  of  the  place  without  saying 
a  word.  Soon  after  he  had  left  the  room,  however,  an  official 
entered,  and  ordered  an  old  woman  who  was  ironing  on  the 
same  table  as  myself  to  come  to  the  matron's  office.  One  of 
the  other  women  told  me  that  the  inspector  had  "  spotted " 
her  as  a  woman  who  had  infringed  the  rules  by  being  in 


ZHp  attf>  frown  tbe  Social  Xafcfcer         59 

another  metropolitan  casual  ward  within  the  prohibited  time. 
"She'll  get  'cells'  and  'oakum,'"  she  informed  me.  I 
suppose  this  happened,  because  the  old  woman  did  not 
return. 

At  noon  we  were  told  to  leave  off  work  and  go  to  dinner. 

This  meal  was  also  served  in  the  room  in  which  we  had 
breakfast,  and  consisted  of  bread  and  cheese.  After  a  rest  of 
an  hour,  we  returned  to  our  duties,  and  worked  on  until  five 
o'clock.  At  that  hour  was  finished  our  work  for  the  day: 
"Tea"  was  given  to  us,  or  rather  skilly  and  bread.  How 
I  longed  for  a  cup  of  tea !  After  this  meal  we  were  sent 
to  bed. 

The  night  passed  in  the  same  manner  as  the  previous  one. 
At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  I  was  awakened  in  the  same  way 
as  the  morning  before,  but  my  clothes  were  now  by  my 
bedside.  I  dressed,  and  was  told  to  do  some  cleaning  and 
dusting.  After  I  had  done  this,  I  was  given  my  breakfast 
— more  skilly  and  dry  bread.  At  eight  o'clock  I  was 
allowed  to  leave  the  establishment. 

I  inquired  for  my  companion,  and  was  told  that  she  had 
been  admitted  to  the  infirmary. 

We  do  not  wish  to  encourage  pauperism,  and  certainly  the 
casual  wards  cannot  be  accused  of  over -tenderness  to  the 
poor.  There  is  no  sympathy,  no  touch  of  humanity — all  is 
coldly  and  severely  ordained.  The  outcasts  come  and  go, 
"  nobody's  people."  Later,  I  tasted  the  bitterness  of  the  cup 
of  charity  provided  in  others  of  these  wards — brutality  and 
insult  being  the  portion  of  the  applicants  for  refuge.  But 
here  it  was  not  cruel.  It  deprives  one  of  liberty  for  nearly 
forty-eight  hours  and  sometimes  longer.  The  food  is  not 
palatable,  and  the  work  demanded  is  quite  out  of  proportion 
to  the  value  given  by  way  of  food  and  shelter. 

The  keynote  of  the  establishment  in  which  I  sojourned  was 


60  tTbe  Soul  /iDatftet 

exemplary  cleanliness.  The  tone  adopted  by  the  officials  was 
a  horrid  surliness,  and  I  was  glad  I  was  not  an  "  habitual." 

Many  a  time  and  often  has  it  been  my  experience  to  go 
from  some  fashionable  assembly  into  the  haunts  of  misery, 
and  sometimes  an  awful  fear  took  hold  of  me.  Some  day 
there  must  be  a  terrible  reckoning.  The  mad  race  for  wealth 
— the  passion  for  idleness  and  pleasure  will  have  some  grim 
result. 

I  was  present  at  a  great  gathering  one  winter  evening  in  a 
splendid  house.  It  was  a  Saturday  night ;  till  three  o'clock 
on  the  Lord's  Day  crowds  of  guests  filled  the  rooms.  A  large 
apartment  was  arranged  with  card -tables,  where  men  and 
women  lost  and  won  large  sums  of  money.  One  room  was 
devoted  to  music ;  in  another,  theatrical  performances  were 
being  given.  Refreshments  were  provided,  which  consisted 
of  the  choicest  and  costliest  wines  and  meats  and  fruits. 
There  were  great  silver  dishes  of  peaches  that  cost  not  less 
than  two  and  sixpence  each — strawberries  at  the  same  price. 
These  things  were  grabbed  for,  and  fought  for  by  the  well- 
dressed  guests  who  had  all  previously  dined,  I  suppose.  I 
have  heard  jokes  made  about  the  quantities  of  food  demolished 
by  factory  girls  and  coster  lads  at  feasts  provided  for  them, 
but  these  people  often  have  had  no  other  food  that  day.  At 
a  society  party,  however,  there  is  no  such  excuse  :  the  food  is 
not  needed  for  sustaining  the  body. 

As  I  was  leaving  this  particular  party  in  a  hansom  cab,  a 
smartly-dressed  girl  came  out.  It  was  raining,  and  there 
seemed  no  other  cabs  in  view.  She  asked  me  if  I  could  drop 
her  on  my  way  home,  and  this  I  consented  to  do.  She  got 
into  the  cab.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  I  had  watched  her  for  a 
few  minutes  playing  in  the  Bridge-room.  Suddenly  she  turned 
to  me  and  abruptly  said  : 

"  Do  you  believe  there  is  a  God  ?  " 


TUp  ant>  Sown  tfoe  Social  Xafcfcer         61 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  she  answered ;  "  or  if  there  is  a  God,  He 
doesn't  seem  to  care  much  about  women." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Because  I  have  lost  ;£ioo  at  Bridge  to-night  and  haven't 
a  cent  to  pay  it  with." 

"  Why  blame  God  for  such  folly  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Well,  I  often  have  luck.  I  owe  a  beast  of  a  man  a  lot 
of  money,  and  I  hoped  to  win  enough  to  pay  him.  I  prayed 
that  I  might  be  lucky.  I  kept  my  '  lucky  pig '  in  my  pocket 
all  the  time  too,  and  I  wore  this  amber  cross  and  prayed  on 
it.  Anyway,  I've  lost  ;£ioo,  and  there'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

"  You  prayed  to  God  through  an  amber  cross  and  a  '  lucky 
pig,' "  I  gasped.  "  Is  that  the  way  your  mother  taught  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  mater's  not  a  bad  sort,"  the  girl  said.  "  She  takes 
choral  and  drinks  eau  de  Cologne  since  the  pater  warned  the 
tradespeople  not  to  serve  her  with  brandy.  I  get  it  for  the 
poor  old  lady  sometimes,  she  becomes  such  a  wreck  without 
something." 

"  Shall  you  tell  your  father  about  losing  this  money  ? "  I 
asked. 

She  laughed. 

"You  wouldn't  ask  such  a  ninny  sort  of  question  if  you 
knew  the  pater.  He  makes  hell  for  everyone  when  he  has  to 
shell  out  money.  The  mater  always  runs  bills,  and  about 
once  a  year  there  is  a  fearful  rumpus,  and  pater  pays  what 
he's  forced  to." 

"  Is  he  very  badly  off?"  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  we're  as  poor  as  paupers.  Pater  has  four  thousand  a 
year,  the  mater  has  three  hundred ;  I  have  what  I  make  at 
Bridge,  or  off  presents  I  get." 

"  How  can  you  make  money  '  off'  presents  ?  " 

"Oh,  sell  them  or  pawn  them.     I  generally  'pop'  them,  as 


6a  TTbe  Soul  flDarfcet 

one  can  get  them  out  for  a  night  if  necessary,  by  paying  a 
deposit,  and  it  saves  one  looking  stony-broke  when  one  goes 
out." 

The  girl  spoke  in  the  calmest  way  of  these  dreadful  things, 
and  I  felt  an  intense  pity  for  her.  I  asked  her  what  she  would 
do  about  getting  the  money. 

"  Oh,  God  knows ! "  she  said.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
take  it  from  that  beast." 

"Does  that  mean  you  must  sell  your  soul  for  ;£roo?"  I 
asked,  horrified. 

"I  suppose  so,  unless  something  turns  up.  Do  you 
suppose  if  I  prayed  again  in  some  other  way,  God  would 
hear  ?  Are  you  a  religious  sort  ?  "  she  said. 

11 1  don't  know  what  a  'religious  sort '  is,"  I  replied;  "  but  I 
believe  in  God.  He  has  helped  me  many  times  when  I  have 
been  in  great  trouble." 

Instantly  the  girl  turned  to  me. 

"  Do  you  play,  then ;  or  was  it  because  of  some  man  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  I  said. 

The  cab  drew  up  at  her  door. 

"  Come  in  for  a  little  while,"  she  begged ;  "  the  mater's 

sure  to  be  in  bed,  and  I  left  the  pater  with  Mrs. ,  he  won't 

be  home  yet." 

"  In  that  case,"  I  said,  "  will  you  come  on  to  my  rooms  ? 
It  is  nearly  morning,  so  you  better  bring  a  long  coat  to  wrap 
up  in." 

She  went  upstairs  and  brought  down  a  dark  garment,  and 
we  went  on  to  my  lodgings.  I  lit  the  gas  fire  and  heated 
some  cocoa.  My  landlady  always  left  some  simple  refresh- 
ment for  me  when  I  was  out  late.  A  more  sorrowful  tale  of 
wasted  lives  than  that  miserable  girl  told  me,  I  have  never 
heard.  Had  she  been  a  working  girl,  it  would  have  been 
easier  to  help  her,  but  she  was  a  lady,  of  good  family,  who 


an&  Sown  tbe  Social  %at>fcer         63 

despised  all  honest  work,  and  there  was  something  awful  in 
her  idea  of  God — an  erratic  Being  who  played  with  souls  as 
she  played  with  the  cards. 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said,  "  that  you  must  pay  this  card-debt  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  a  debt  of  honour." 

Ah  me !  to  think  that  women  had  come  to  accept  a  man's 
code  in  the  matter  of  "  honour." 

"  What  would  happen  if  you  did  not  pay  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Some  sweep  would  sneak  to  the  pater,  and  anyway,  I'd  be 
cut,  and  never  allowed  to  play  again." 

"  Would  that  be  such  a  loss  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  you  think  it  a  loss  never  to  have  any  money  ? 
To  be  in  debt  to  the  butler,  and  have  your  maid  impertinent 
because  you  couldn't  tip  her  ?  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  have  neither  butler  nor  maid." 

"  Goodness  ! "  she  said  "  How  do  you  dress  and  do  your 
hair?" 

I  laughed.  In  the  face  of  the  tragedy  before  us,  it  seemed 
odd  that  doing  without  a  maid  should  seem  a  calamity  to  my 
companion. 

"  Couldn't  your  mother  help  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Poor  old  mater,  she  hasn't  a  cent.  She's  always  hard  up 
herself." 

"  Look  here ! "  I  said  desperately.  "  Couldn't  you  just  drop 
everything,  and  begin  life  somewhere  else  decently  ?  You 
could  get  a  post  of  some  sort  perhaps,  or  you  might  go  to 
some  Sisterhood  for  a  while ;  I  know  you  could  get  a  home 
and  refuge." 

The  girl  laughed  bitterly. 

"  How  delightful !  "  she  said.  "  Fancy  drudging  away  in 
dowdy  clothes  with  some  awful  old  dowds.  No  dances,  no 
cards,  no  pretty  clothes,  no  anything." 

I  was  dumb, 


64  ftbe  Soul  /l&arftet 

"  Can't  you  lend  me  the  money  ?  "  she  said  at  last. 

"  You  see,"  I  explained,  "  I  have  to  work  for  the  money  1 
make,  and  I  haven't  got  that  sum  to  lend  you." 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  matter.  It  will  be  all  the  same  a 
hundred  years  hence.  I'll  get  the  money  from  that  toad." 

I  knew  instinctively  the  price  she  would  be  forced  to  pay 
for  the  loan.  She  was  going  to  the  market  where  souls  are 
sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  It  seemed  a  fearful  price  to  pay 
for  fine  clothes  and  pleasure.  However,  the  girl  did  not  get 
the  money  from  the  "  toad." 

Three  years  after,  I  met  her  by  accident  in  an  hotel  in  Paris. 
She  was  beautifully  dressed.  Her  hair  was  arranged  in  the 
latest  fashion.  She  wore  costly  jewels.  Her  face  was  painted. 
She  was  alone.  I  forgave  her  for  forgetting  a  debt  that  was 
oot  a  "  debt  of  honour." 


CHAPTER  IV 

FANCIES   AND    FACTS — FACTORY  LIFE — MAKERS 
OF  MILLIONS 

BEFORE  I  came  to  England  I  had,  through  such  mediums  as 
story  books,  lantern  lectures,  circulars  from  institutions,  such 
as  Dr.  Miiller's  Orphanages,  Dr.  Barnardo's  Homes,  and  other 
places  of  that  ilk,  obtained  what  I  thought  rather  a  compre- 
hensive knowledge  of  the  poorer  side  of  life  in  Great  Britain. 
Two  books  which  were  sources  of  constant  delight  to  me 
when  I  was  a  tiny  child,  were  a  story  called  "  Froggy's  Little 
Brother,"  and  another  called  "  The  Match-Girl."  The  first 
was  a  charming  tale  of  two  little  crossing-sweepers,  who  lived 
in  an  attic  in  Shoreditch,  and  "  The  Match-Girl  "  was  the 
story  of  a  little  child  obliged  to  stand  in  the  streets  of  London 
(I  think  in  the  book  the  snow  was  always  on  the  ground) 
selling  matches  for  the  support  of  a  family — I  forget  lust  now 
whether  the  "  family  "  were  supposed  to  do  anything  for  their 
own  support  or  not.  The  books  were  orofusely  illustrated,  and 
the  stories  of  these  children  were  made  very  real  to  me.  I 
also  had  a  lovely  story  about  "Flower  Girls,"  and  my  disappoint- 
ment on  finding  that  the  flower-girls  of  fiction  had  absolutely 
no  connection  with  the  flower-girls  of  the  London  streets 
was  most  keen.  I  exoected  to  find  flaxen-haired,  blue-eyed, 
innocent-looking  children  pleading  with  the  passers-by  in  an 
irresistible  manner,  instead  of  which  I  found  wet,  draggled 
flowers  thrust  under  my  nose  in  crowded  thoroughfares,  by 

65  E 


66  Zlbe  Soul 

dirty  and  untidy  women;  most  of  them  were  ugly,  and  some 
of  them  were  fat  and  old.  Indeed,  the  romance  of  London 
life  soon  faded  away,  and  I  was  brought  into  actual  contact 
with  things  as  they  ure,  in  place  of  things  as  they  are  written 
about.  My  desire  to  render  service  to  the  needy,  to  the 
working  girls  and  women  in  this  country,  was  not  because  of 
romance  or  sentiment,  but  because  of  the  knowledge  that 
unless  those  who  are  able  will  fight  the  battle  for  those  who 
are  disabled,  there  can  be  no  hope  of  eventual  reforms  in  the 
social  system.  Not  that  any  single  person  can  do  much,  but 
our  concern  is  not  with  what  individuals  may  accomplish.  We 
have  merely  to  decide,  and  do  what  we  each  consider  duty 
demands  of  us  personally,  leaving  the  issue  with  God. 

THE   MAKERS   OF  MILLIONS 

To  the  average  person  there  is  something  fascinating  about 
the  title  "  Millionaire."  Indeed,  there  lies  in  it  so  much 
virtue  that  one  having  a  right  to  use  it  finds  the  world  a 
pleasant  place,  go  where  he  will.  There  is  a  certain  glamour 
about  immense  wealth  that  the  whole  world  acknowledges, 
yet  not  many  people  concern  themselves  with  the  methods 
employed  in  the  production  of  that  wealth,  or  with  the  busi- 
ness practices  of  the  Makers  of  the  Millions  they  either  envy 
or  admire.  Lately  a  cynic  wrote  in  an  English  newspaper, 
that  it  is  not  necessary  to  build  more  churches,  since  those 
already  in  existence  often  lie  coldly  empty ;  but  he  suggested 
instead,  that  the  Bank  of  England  be  persuaded  to  open  its 
doors  on  Sundays,  and  some  financier  like  Pierpont  Morgan 
be  engaged  to  hold  services  there.  "The  overwhelming 
crowds  of  worshippers  of  the  Almighty  Dollar,"  he  said, 
"would  leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  true  trend  of  religion  in 
the  present  day." 


jfancfes  anfc  facts  67 

Fortunately,  we  are  not  all  cynics ;  but  because  it  is  true 
that  possessors  of  wealth  are  looked  upon  with  as  much 
interest  in  England  as  elsewhere,  I  venture  to  tell  a  few 
stories  of  the  means  utilised  to  gain  money  by  some  of  the 
wealth-makers  as  I  knew  them. 

It  may  be,  that  when  one  has  been  hungry  and  cold 
during  many  hours  of  hard  toil,  and  found  that,  after  all, 
the  labour  of  one's  hands  could  scarcely  wring  a  bare  living 
from  these  narrow  times,  that  one  is  led  to  question  the 
justice  of  the  fate  that  has  made  the  labourer  so  ill- 
considered  an  item  in  the  economy  of  life,  while  those 
gathering  the  fruits  of  his  labour  are  held  in  such  esteem. 

There  is  no  knowledge  so  convincing  as  knowledge  won 
by  personal  experience;  and  now  that  I  know  the  lives  of 
the  majority  of  the  toilers  in  our  great  cities,  having  been 
with  them,  and  one  of  them,  I  feel  a  very  kindly  sympathy 
for  all  those  who  earn  their  bread  with  the  work  of  their 
hands. 

The  story  of  my  life  among  the  factory  girls  would  be 
incomplete  without  a  little  account  of  the  first  real  insight  I 
got  into  the  lives  of  this  class  of  workers.  At  first  my 
interest,  like  that  of  most  other  casual  visitors,  was  simply 
of  an  outsider  for  people  one  pities  and  usually  misunder- 
stands. But  when  I  was  happy  enough  to  win  the  friendship 
of  Mrs.  Sara  Rae,  who  has  given  her  life  to  the  service  of 
the  factory  and  coster  girls  of  Hoxton,  I  began  my  first  real 
and  intimate  acquaintance  with  these  people.  True,  I  had 
visited  clubs  and  guilds  for  girls  of  the  working  classes  in 
many  parts  of  London  and  other  cities  where  I  travelled. 
In  them  I  saw  many  excellent  women  of  all  conditions  and 
ages  doing  useful  work  according  to  their  lights.  They  were 
either  "doing  them  good,"  with  a  very  conscious  air,  or 
"educating"  them,  or  giving  them  "culture";  but  even  to 


68  ZTbe  Soul  /fcarftet 

my  limited  experience  there  seemed  something  a  little 
artificial  about  these  efforts;  and  it  was  only  after  I  had 
met  Mrs.  Rae  and  been  down  to  Hoxton  many  times,  and 
realised  how  wonderfully  valuable  one  absolutely  devoted, 
clever,  and  liberal  woman  could  be  to  her  country  and 
individuals  needing  a  practical  friend,  that  there  grew  up 
in  my  heart  a  real  love  for  the  girls  whom  she  loved  so 
truly  and  served  to  such  good  purpose — girls  whose  lives 
contained  but  little  real  beauty,  who  contrived,  nevertheless, 
to  be  cheerful  and  even  happy.  It  was  after  continued  visits 
to  Hoxton  and  close  and  intimate  friendship  with  Mrs.  Rae 
that  I  awoke  to  the  fact  that  I  could  never  do  very  much  for 
these  people  until  I  had  really  tasted  life  with  them.  I  had 
no  desire  to  win  my  knowledge  of  them  by  twenty  years  of 
waiting.  My  desire  was  to  know  them  and  understand  them, 
and  be  free  to  serve  them  in  some  way  while  I  was  still 
young,  and  not  obliged  to  take  up  "doing  good"  as  a  sort 
of  profession  when  every  other  interest  had  failed. 

With  great  circumspection,  and  as  delicately  as  possible, 
I  hinted  to  my  friend  my  desire  to  get  work  in  a  factory 
as  an  ordinary  factory  hand.  She,  however,  would  not 
encourage  the  idea. 

"My  dear  girl,"  she  said,  "you  have  no  conception  of  the 
hardship  of  the  life  and  the  dreadful  surroundings." 

But  I  had  made  up  my  mind ;  I  went  to  my  old  friend, 
Mr.  C.,  for  advice  as  to  how  to  make  a  start. 

"  Shall  I  try  and  get  you  a  job  at  a  factory  in  Hoxton  ? " 
he  asked. 

".  Oh,  no ;  I  would  not  dare  to  go  there,"  I  answered,  "  the 
Hoxton  people  know  me  too  well ;  try  New  Cross,  or  any 
other  locality  where  there  are  factories.  Get  me  a  fairly  easy 
place  for  the  first,  if  possible,"  I  begged. 

"Yes,"  he  retorted,  laughing,  "that  is  what  the  girls  always 


ffanciea  an£>  jfacts  69 

want,  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  fun,  and  not  much 
work." 

A  few  days  after,  Mr.  C.  called  at  my  place  and  informed 
me  that  he  had  secured  a  lodging  for  me  in  the  house  of  an 
artisan  acquaintance  of  his,  whose  daughters  were  working  in 
a  factory  in  South  London.  These  girls  had  promised  to  do 
their  best  to  get  me  employment  in  the  same  factory. 

Mr.  C.,  out  of  his  fertile  imagination,  had  given  them  urgent 
reasons  why  I  should  have  work  found  for  me  at  once — "  A 
poor  little  furin'  sort  o'  gal,  not  too  smart  about  London,  but 
'as  a  good  'art."  I  thanked  him  for  this  description  of  me, 
and  packing  my  box  as  if  I  was  going  to  visit  friends,  I  drove 
away  from  my  place.  Arriving  at  a  little  room  in  a  quiet 
street  where  many  of  my  transformation  scenes  have  been 
performed,  I  packed  away  my  decent  clothes,  left  my  trunk 
in  my  room,  carrying  out  with  me  only  a  small  basket  and  a 
bundle.  Mr.  C.  met  me  in  the  street  and  was  quite  approving. 
"  You'll  do  fine,"  he  said. 

It  was  afternoon  when  we  set  off  to  the  place  he  had  found 
for  me.  We  threaded  our  way  through  small  and  unfamiliar 
streets  and  approached  the  house,  which  was  in  a  narrow 
street,  with  the  inevitable  public-house  at  one  corner  and  a 
pawn-shop  at  the  other.  In  the  street  were  three  miserable 
little  shops,  fly-blown  and  untidy,  the  windows  filled  with 
bread,  cheap  tins  of  milk  and  salmon,  and  such  goods. 
Shops  in  these  neighbourhoods  are  generally  run  on  a  weekly 
credit  system,  the  customers  having  a  book  in  which  the 
goods  they  take  away  are  entered.  They  settle  their  accounts 
on  Saturday  night.  Of  course,  the  person  receiving  credit 
has  to  pay  a  much  higher  price  for  his  goods  than  one  whp 
pays  cash.  Nevertheless,  as  I  found,  this  system  often  helps 
a  poor  woman  to  tide  over  a  serious  moment  and  to  provide 
a  meal  for  many  a  little  mouth  that  would  otherwise  be  empty. 


70  Tr&e  Soul  /l&arftet 

With  the  exception  of  an  occasional  cheap  joint  or  a  pound 
of  fourpenny  "  block  ornaments/'  as  the  small  pieces  of  meat 
that  butchers  cut  from  the  joint  are  called,  many  women 
seldom  buy  anywhere  else  than  at  the  general  shop. 

We  arrived  at  No.  20,  the  house  of  our  friends,  about  five 
o'clock.  Mr.  C.  signalled  our  advent  by  a  single  bang  on  the 
knocker  of  the  already  open  street  door. 

"  One  never  knocks  a  double  knock,"  said  Mr.  C. ;  "  it  would 
be  likely  to  alarm  the  inhabitants.  Only  doctors  or  officials 
double  knock  in  this  sort  of  neighbourhood." 

"  They  are  at  tea,"  whispered  Mr.  C.,  and  there  came  up  to 
us  a  smell  of  cooking  bloaters. 

No  notice  being  taken  of  our  first  knock,  Mr.  C.  banged 
again  more  loudly  than  before.  This  summons  brought  a 
small  girl  to  the  door.  That  she  had  left  the  tea-table  was 
obvious  by  the  fact  that  she  carried  a  large  slice  of  bread  and 
butter  partly  in  her  hand  and  partly  in  her  mouth.  She 
greeted  us  with  "  Wot  yer  want  ?  "  Before  we  could  answer, 
a  man's  rough  voice  called  from  the  room  at  the  end  of  the 
little  passage,  "  Who  is  it,  Ameelia  ?  " 

Mr.  C.  informed  Ameelia  that  it  was  the  new  lodger. 

"  Oh,  come  this  way,"  said  the  girl.  Then  screamed  out : 
"  Ere's  the  noo  lodger,  father." 

We  were  ushered  into  a  back  room  about  ten  feet  square, 
yet  in  the  small  space  were  not  less  than  nine  persons,  besides 
Mr.  C.,  Ameelia,  and  myself. 

Mr.  C.  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Cruddock.  Mr.  Cruddock 
rose  from  the  table  and  extended  his  shirt-sleeved  arm  towards 
me  so  that  I  might  shake  his  hand. 

"Wot'll  yer  'ave?  A  drop  of  beer  or  a  cup  of  tea — say 
the  word  now  ?  Mother,  give  the  young  gal  a  cheer.  Git  up, 
Billy.  Go  and  finish  your  tea  in  the  yard ;  that'll  give  us  some 
more  room," 


fancies  anfc  facts  71 

Billy  carried  his  tea  and  bread  to  some  unknown  region. 
I  found  a  little  corner  at  the  table,  then  came  more  introduc- 
tions. Mrs.  Cruddock  ;  Kate  Cruddock,  the  eldest  daughter, 
a  girl  who  became  a  great  friend  of  mine;  Jane  Cruddock, 
her  sister,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  always  laughing,  although  not 
having  much  in  her  life  to  make  her  laugh ;  Jim  Cruddock, 
the  eldest  son,  and  two  awkward-looking  young  men  who  were 
simply  presented  as  "friends  of  the  gals."  These,  with  two 
or  three  children,  who  were  squeezed  into  small  spaces,  were 
introduced  to  me  with  waves  of  the  hand  and  nods. 

In  the  centre  of  the  table  was  an  immense  dish  containing 
thick  pieces  of  bread  and  butter.  There  was  also  a  huge  tin 
tea-pot,  and  every  one  of  the  party  had  a  cup  and  saucer. 

"  Tea  or  beer  ?  Just  mention  it,"  said  the  hospitable  Mr. 
Cruddock. 

Both  Mr.  C.  and  I  voted  for  tea.  There  was  a  little  delay 
before  we  were  supplied,  however,  owing  to  the  shortness  of 
cups.  In  fact,  we  had  to  wait  until  two  of  the  children's 
were  washed  up  for  us. 

After  tea  Mr.  C.  took  his  leave,  and  Kate  invited  me  up  to 
the  room  I  was  to  share  with  her.  It  was  small,  but  neat  and 
clean,  and  overlooked  a  number  of  tiny  back-yards  decorated 
with  the  usual  washing  which  hung  out  on  lines.  Kate  was  a 
sturdy,  red-faced  girl,  with  good  eyes  and  plenty  of  towsled 
hair. 

"  Where  are  yer  goin'  ter-night  ?  "  she  asked. 

11 1  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  not  thought 
of  it." 

"  Well,  look  here !  I'll  get  rid  of  my  bloke  dahnstairs  and 
we'll  gc  to  the  Wash." 

I  placed  myself  in  her  hands. 

Kate  went  downstairs,  and  soon  after  I  heard  the  young 
man  and  the  other  sister  leave  the  house. 


7*  TTbe  Soul  /IBarftet 

Having  threepenny  worth  up  in  the  "  gawds,"  as  going  tc 
the  gallery  of  one  of  the  cheap  music  halls  is  called,  is  a 
very  favourite  form  of  recreation  for  a  factory  girl.  "  Walking 
out  with  her  bloke  "  is  another,  though  milder,  excitement. 

Kate  and  I  got  to  this  particular  music  hall,  and  had  to 
stand  outside  in  a  long  queue  waiting  for  the  doors  to  open, 
and  here  I  had  an  example  of  the  capacity  these  girls  have  of 
taking  care  of  themselves,  or,  as  they  call  it,  "  getting  their 
own  back."  A  "  gentleman  "  happened  to  tread  on  the  toes 
of  a  girl  standing  behind  us.  He  looked  a  young  man  of  the 
junior  clerk  type.  She  turned  quickly  on  him,  and  he  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon/'  he  repeated. 

"  Beg  my  pardon,"  she  sneered.  "  Don't  yer  beg  here,  or 
you'll  get  locked  up."  Then  to  the  admiring  crowd  :  "  He's 
got  all  the  world  to  flop  abaht  on,  yet  he  wants  the  little  bit 
I'm  standing  on  for  his  ugly  'oofs." 

"  I  said  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  no  gentleman  can't  do 
more.  I  tell  you  I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Did  not  see  me,"  this  with  a  contemptuous  jeer.  "  That's 
the  worst  of  havin'  second-hand  eyes." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  gentleman,"  said  another  girl, 
joining  the  fun.  "You  wasn't  there  a  minute,  was  yer, 
Percy  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your — "  the  youth  again  began,  but  was  cut  short 
by  the  irate  lady  assuming  a  fighting  attitude,  and  telling  the 
young  man  "to  'op  it  afore  she  set  abaht."  He  discreetly 
retired  to  the  rear. 

The  entertainment  we  witnessed  was  as  curious  to  me  as 
the  introduction  had  been.  We  went  up  into  the  gallery, 
paying  threepence  each  for  standing-room,  amid  a  crowd 
of  noisy  young  people,  who  were  either  vigorously  enthusiastic 


fancies  a^  jfact&  73 

or  mercilessly  critical.  I  followed  with  interest  each  item  of 
the  singularly  mixed  programme. 

First  of  all,  there  emerged  an  extremely  fat  lady,  very 
d^colleUe^  with  a  string  of  diamonds  as  large  as  pigeons'  eggs 
around  her  throat.  Her  dress  was  of  white  satin,  spangled 
over.  She  was  received  with  vociferous  cheers,  and  I  heard 
someone  ask:  "  When's  the  balloon  going  up?"  She  sang 
one  of  the  usual  music-hall  songs,  then  proceeded  to 
disrobe  herself  rapidly,  and  stood  revealed  in  pink  tights,  in 
which  she  sang  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  She  might  have 
been  a  Patti  for  the  appreciation  that  was  shown  to  her 
efforts,  but  I  think  that  it  was  the  song  that  evoked  the 
applause,  for,  curious  as  it  may  seem,  these  people  who  have 
least  cause  to  love  home,  having  but  unlovely  places  of  shelter, 
are  yet  faithful  to  the  beautiful  sentiment  expressed  in  the  old 
song. 

After  the  performance  was  over,  I  went  out  with  Kate,  and 
we  joined  a  party  of  young  people  strolling  homewards. 
There  were  noisy  jokes  and  loud  laughter,  but  no  bad 
language  was  used,  and  there  was  really  nothing  objection- 
able in  the  companionship.  It  was  late  when  we  got  to  bed, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  had  hardly  slept  for  an  hour 
before  there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door,  and  Mr. 
Cruddock's  voice  called  out :  "  Look  spry,  gals,  or  you'll 
be  late." 

We  jumped  up,  and  as  quickly  as  possible  got  ready. 
Kate  and  I  made  our  beds  and  went  downstairs,  where  we 
had  a  breakfast  of  bread  and  butter  and  coffee,  with  a  piece 
of  fried  bacon.  We  then  made  our  way  to  the  factory,  which 
was  one  for  the  manufacture  of  aerated  waters.  Kate  was 
earning  at  this  factory  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  and  was  con- 
sidered a  very  good  hand.  She  was  evidently  a  favourite  also, 
for  she  had  no  hesitation  in  taking  me  with  her  to  see  the 


74  ^be  Soul 

foreman.  After  a  few  questions,  he  agreed  to  take  me  on  to 
begin  in  the  bottle-washing  room,  at  the  magnificent  salary  of 
three  shillings  a  week,  since  I  was  a  new  hand  without  experi- 
ence. We  had  to  be  at  the  factory  at  eight  o'clock  every 
morning,  and  we  left  at  seven  in  the  evening.  One  hour  we 
had  for  dinner  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  half-an-hour 
for  tea. 

Kate  and  Jane  behaved  nobly  by  me,  and  I  was  comfortable, 
for  they  had  a  respectable  home,  dressed  well,  and  according 
to  their  ideas,  lived  well ;  but  many  of  the  other  employees  were 
of  a  much  lower  class,  and  their  ways  were  extremely  rough. 

I  learned  here  of  an  evil  that  threatens  the  happiness  of 
many  of  these  girls'  lives,  and  that  is  a  passion  for  gambling 
that  is  rampant  among  a  great  section  of  the  working  girls  in 
London.  Almost  every  factory  has  its  own  "starting  price 
book-maker"  who  is  established  in  the  vicinity.  I  found 
that  on  Saturdays  many  of  the  girls  employed  in  this 
particular  factory  used  to  gather  in  groups  and  discuss  the 
odds  and  merits  of  race-horses  with  as  much  eagerness  as 
their  betting  brothers  and  fathers,  and  they  risked  with  this 
man  a  far  larger  proportion  of  their  hard-earned  shillings 
than  would  seem  creditable  when  one  realised  how  small  a 
return  their  labour  brings. 

According  to  Government  returns,  the  Aerated  Water 
Manufactories  represent  the  most  dangerous  employment 
for  women,  and  the  number  of  accidents  in  them  is  larger 
in  proportion  than  in  other  manufactories,  except  the  factories 
where  cotton  is  prepared :  544  women  were  injured  during 
the  year  1903,  and  many  deaths  were  caused  in  this  trade. 
The  hurts  are  principally  due  to  explosions  and  broken  glass, 
or  careless  use  of  machinery.  The  Government  has  done 
much  to  protect  workers  in  these  factories  who  have  but 
little  care  for  themselves.  The  first  Factory  Act  was  passed 


FACTORY   GIRLS  WAITING   IN   THE   STREET   FOR   THE   DOORS  TO   OPEN. 
MISS   MALVERY   IS   LAST   IN   THE  GROUP. 


ffancfes  an&  ffacts  75 

in  1802,  but  since  that  time  numerous  Acts  have  been  passed 
for  the  protection  of  the  worker.  The  Factory  Acts  as  they 
now  stand  are,  as  far  as  they  go,  sound  and  good,  but,  of 
course,  there  is  still  much  room  for  reform.  I  am  bound  to 
say,  though,  that  from  my  experience  in  the  several  factories, 
that  the  abuses  existing  are  not  the  fault  of  the  law.  There 
are  excellent  women  inspectors  to  safeguard  the  interest  of 
women  and  children-workers  who  have  to  earn  their  living 
in  factories  and  workshops.  The  Government  tries  to  give 
the  factory  girl  regular  hours,  though  these  are  far  too  long. 

I  recently  visited  a  model  factory  in  America,  the  President 
of  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  millionaires  and  most  pro- 
gressive business  men  in  the  States,  and  he  told  me  that  he 
had  found  it  paid  him  in  dollars  and  cents  to  reduce  the 
working  hours  of  his  factory  hands.  He  employs  5,000  work- 
people, and  assured  me  that  their  efficiency  was  doubled  when 
they  worked  without  fatigue.  If  this  reform  can  be  carried 
out  successfully  in  America,  surely  in  England  the  hours  of 
work  could  be  somewhat  lessened  without  loss  of  money  to 
the  employers.  In  every  factory  where  I  have  been,  I  have 
worked  ten  or  eleven  hours  each  day,  and  I  maintain  that 
no  woman  is  able  to  do  effectual  work  for  so  prolonged  a 
period. 

It  is  forbidden  for  any  woman  to  clean  machinery  in 
motion  in  a  factory,  and  every  factory  worker  is  supposed 
to  have  250  cubic  feet  of  air. 

It  struck  me  as  an  extremely  curious  example  of  the 
strange  difficulty  there  is  in  protecting  half  -  educated  or 
wholly  ignorant  persons,  when  I  found  that  almost  all 
factory  girls  looked  upon  the  inspectors  as  personal 
enemies,  exactly  in  the  same  way  that  the  poorer  people 
regard  the  police,  who,  to  us,  stand  for  representatives 
of  protection  and  safety. 


76  Ube  Soul 

I  have  found  that  many  breaches  of  the  law  are  not  only 
condoned  but  are  absolutely  concealed  by  the  girls  them- 
selves, and  the  fear  of  the  "sack"  will  often  prevent  the 
exact  truth  being  told  as  to  the  amount  of  overtime  worked. 

Mr.  C.  came  to  see  me  several  times  during  my  life  at  the 
Cruddocks',  and  he  supplied  me  from  time  to  time  with 
small  sums  of  money  for  the  little  necessities  that  arose 
from  day  to  day;  for  I  found — despite  my  determination — 
that  it  was  impossible  to  live  on  three  shillings  a  week.  I 
paid  for  my  board  alone  four  shillings,  and  for  sharing  the 
room  with  Kate  two  shillings  a  week.  If  I  had  not  been 
able  to  supplement  my  scanty  earnings,  I  should  have  fared 
badly  indeed.  It  is  always  the  girls  who  live  in  homes  such 
as  I  first  shared  who  are  the  best  off  among  the  factory 
workers,  for  they  are  not  expected  to  contribute  their  entire 
earnings  to  the  family,  and  get  many  advantages  from  living 
in  a  household  which  they  would  not  be  able  to  afford  were 
they  entirely  dependent  on  providing  their  own  home.  The 
hospitality  of  these  people  is  marvellous.  True,  they  are  not 
thrifty,  and  seldom  is  there  anything  put  by  for  a  rainy  day, 
but  what  they  have  they  share  liberally. 

Mr.  C.  was  invited  to  the  house  for  the  next  Sunday's 
dinner,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  going  out  with  the  mother 
to  do  her  marketing  on  the  Saturday  night.  The  two  girls 
went  out  with  their  "  blokes." 

The  Sunday  dinner  is  almost  a  fetish  in  the  home  of  the 
London  factory  girl. 

"  Why,  it  wouldn't  be  like  Sunday  if  there  wasn't  no  roast 
and  boiled.  Ye  see  it's  the  only  day  in  the  week  when  we  all 
sits  down  together,  and  I  likes  to  make  a  bit  of  a  fuss  like," 
Mrs.  Cruddock  said. 

Thus  the  buying  and  providing  the  food  for  Sunday  is 
generally  a  very  important  business. 


fancies  an&  facts  77 

Among  the  people  I  lived  with  then,  the  shopping  was 
nearly  all  done  between  the  hours  of  6  and  12  p.m.  on 
Saturday  evening,  but  I  found  that  some  of  the  still  poorer 
people  did  most  of  their  marketing  on  Sunday  morning 
because  many  of  the  goods  are  sold  cheaper  at  that  time. 

Mr.  Cruddock,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  his  wife,  told 
me  that  the  old  woman  would  make  a  couple  of  shillings  go 
further  than  some  could  a  dollar.  (It  is  curious  among  the 
poor  people  of  London  that  they  use  the  word  dollar  so  much.) 
Good  managers  some  of  these  women  are,  and  Heaven  knows, 
it  requires  good  management  to  provide  food  for  ten  or  twelve 
mouths  during  a  whole  week  on  twenty  or  thirty  shillings. 
The  best  of  this  class  of  women  will  go  several  miles  in  order 
to  find  the  cheapest  markets.  But  as  a  rule,  I  found  them 
hopelessly  unthrifty,  and  very  ignorant  of  food-values  apart 
from  butcher's  meat. 

Down  I  went  with  Mrs.  Cruddock  that  Saturday  night  into 
all  the  noise  and  light  and  good-tempered  gaiety  of  their 
narrow  market  street,  which  was  lined  on  either  side  with  gay 
coster  stalls  on  which  were  displayed  every  variety  of  goods 
that  might  be  necessary  for  a  housekeeper.  The  mere 
spending  of  money,  be  it  ever  so  little,  seems  to  give  immense 
pleasure  to  the  throngs  of  poor  women  eager  for  bargains  at 
these  stalls  or  shops.  The  very  poorest  seem  to  obtain  some 
comfort  from  the  sight  of  displayed  food,  and  the  feeling  of 
warmth;  and  the  crowd  passes  gaily  along,  each  shopper 
either  buying  the  cheapest  wares  or  watching  the  more 
fortunate  ones  make  their  purchases.  The  air  was  resonant 
with  hundreds  of  voices.  Costers  calling  the  price  of  their 
wares,  hawkers  yelling  for  buyers,  buskers  singing  or  playing, 
piano  -  organs  with  their  crowds  of  dancing  children,  noisy 
showmen  pattering  at  the  doors  of  penny  gaffs,  shrill  cries  of 
little  children,  all  delighted  to  come  a-marketing  with  mother : 


78  Ube  soul  fl&arfeet 

these  are  the  sights  and  sounds  that  make  up  the  market  of 
the  poor. 

By  far  the  noisiest,  and  as  a  rule,  the  most  energetic 
salesmen,  in  this  market  at  any  rate,  were  the  cheap  butchers. 
Crowds  of  women  were  standing  around  every  meat  shop, 
which  was  hung  from  roof  to  ground  with  carcases  and  joints 
of  meat.  Mrs.  Cruddock  stopped  before  one  where  the  man 
was  carrying  on  a  sort  of  auction. 

"'Ere  ye 're.  'Ere  ye 're.  Eightpence,  sixpence,  fivepence. 
'Ere  ye  're.  Fourpence  a  pound.  Hasn't  none  of  you  got  no 
money?  'Ere  ye  're — threepence  a  pound — sold  again." 
And  then  after  a  sale  was  completed  he  shouted :  "  Buy,  buy, 
buy."  He  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Cruddock  on  the  edge  of  the 
crowd,  and  fixing  his  eye  on  her,  said :  "  Look !  'ere  ye  're. 
What  do  for  your  governor?  That's  a  nice  little  piece  to 
put  the  old  man  in  a  good  humour  to-morrow."  But  Mrs, 
Cruddock  would  have  none  of  that,  and  chose  her  own 
joint. 

I  stood  a  little  while  watching  the  girls  come  around,  and 
learned  a  few  lessons  in  domestic  economy. 

"  Here,  my  dear,"  called  the  butcher,  "  here's  a  prime  little 
bit  of  beef;  good  for  roasting,  boiling,  and  eating." 

"  What !  you  call  it  meat  ?  "  said  one  of  the  girls.  "  Why, 
my  bloke  soles  his  boots  with  better  stuff  than  that." 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  the  man,  "  not  with  better  than  this. 
Why,  this  is  a  piece  of  good  old  English  beef." 

"  I  ain't  no  juggins,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  don't  want  your  kag 
mag.  Give  us  something  to  eat." 

The  Sunday  dinner  was  a  memorable  one  for  me.  It  was 
the  last  I  had  in  that  united  household.  Twelve  of  us  sat 
down  to  a  table  originally  built  for  four,  but  everyone  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  dinner,  and  afterwards  we  went  out  for  a  walk  in 
the  Park.  The  girls  danced  on  the  green,  or  walked  with 


fancies  anb  facts  79 

their  arms  around  each  other's  waists,  and  exchanged  curious 
witticisms  with  the  various  young  men  lounging  about. 

Not  for  some  time  did  I  tell  Mr.  C.  that  I  had  had  enough 
of  work  in  an  aerated  water  factory,  and  wanted  now  to  enter 
some  factory  in  another  part  of  the  town,  where  I  could  live 
with  just  one  factory  girl  as  her  chum. 

It  happened  about  this  time  that  I  met,  one  day,  two  girls 
who  were  fighting  in  a  poor  district  where  there  were  three 
large  factories.  These  girls  had  been,  I  was  informed,  close 
chums  and  had  lived  together ;  but  one  of  them  had  annexed 
her  friend's  young  man,  and  this  was  the  cause  of  furious 
enmity.  A  policeman  stepped  in  and  parted  the  girls,  and 
I  sat  down  beside  one  of  them  who  collapsed  in  a  heap  on 
the  pavement.  She  was  much  subdued,  and  in  answer  to  my 
inquiries  told  me  where  she  lived.  I  accompanied  her  to  her 
home,  stayed  talking  with  her  until  eleven  that  night,  and  left, 
only  after  promising  to  come  and  join  her  to  take  the  place  of 
her  faithless  friend.  Two  days  after,  with  my  bundle,  not  on 
my  shoulder,  but  under  my  arm,  I  made  my  way  out  to  the 
suburban  district  where  this  girl  lived.  She  had  one  small 
room  at  the  top  of  a  block  of  tenement  houses.  The  room 
was  furnished  with  a  stove,  which  served  the  double  purpose 
of  cooking  and  heating,  and  she  had  all  her  possessions 
almost  within  hand-reach  when  she  sat  in  the  middle  of  her 
small  domain.  She  suggested  very  kindly  that  I  should  share 
her  bed,  but  I  hardly  felt  equal  to  this  philanthropy,  so  we 
went  out  and  purchased  a  folding-chair,  a  kind  of  resting- 
place,  whereon  I  have  spent  many  nights.  The  chair  cost 
seven  and  sixpence.  My  ulster  had  to  serve  as  a  blanket  for 
the  first  night,  but  the  next  day  I  bought  a  shawl  and  pillow. 

Annie  was  my  friend's  name,  and  she  worked  in  a  factory  a 
long  distance  from  where  she  lived.  To  reach  her  work  she 
had  to  make  a  railway  journey,  the  full  fare  of  which  would 


8o  TTbe  Soul  flDarftet 

have  absorbed  the  greater  part  of  her  scanty  wages.  She 
therefore  took  advantage  of  a  workmen's  train,  the  last 
tickets  for  which  were  not  sold  later  than  7  a.m.  The 
particular  factory  where  Annie  worked  opened  at  8.15,  so 
that  she  had  to  travel  to  London  and  stand  about  in  the 
streets  until  the  gates  of  her  factory  opened.  I  have  seen 
many  times  a  number  of  these  unfortunate  girls  huddled 
together  on  a  wet  morning  beneath  the  friendly  shelter  of 
an  arch  or  doorway.  Anyone  arriving  at  Liverpool  Street  in 
the  early  morning  would  notice  many  of  these  factory  girls 
waiting  about  in  the  station  until  it  is  time  for  them  to 
commence  work. 

Annie  took  me  to  her  factory,  which  was  one  for  the  manu- 
facture of  fancy  boxes.  I  had  to  answer  a  number  of 
questions,  and  then  was  engaged  as  a  learner.  I  was  sent 
up  to  a  girl  whom  I  found  at  work  at  a  bench  in  a  long  room 
crowded  with  other  benches  and  girls.  My  task  was  to  work 
for  her  at  no  wages  for  one  month.  After  this  time  I  was  to  be 
put  upon  piece-work  myself.  This  arrangement  meant  that  I 
had  to  give  my  time  to  this  girl  for  a  month  in  return  for  the 
instruction  she  could  give. 

On  arriving  at  her  bench  I  asked  her  if  she  was  the  person 
to  whom  I  had  been  sent ;  she  nodded.  I  gave  her  my 
message,  and  she  glanced  up  at  me,  giving  me  a  comprehensive 
and  sweeping  look. 

"  You've  started  late,  ain't  yer  ?  " 

11  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  hope  not  too  late." 

"  Well,  that  depends,"  she  said.  "  You  can't  pick  up  box- 
making  in  a  minute,  gal." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  I  said  humbly. 

"  That'll  show  willing,  at  any  rate,"  she  answered,  with  a 
smile. 

Then  she  told  me  to  follow  her  to  the  cutting-room.    This  I 


jf ancles  an&  ffacts  si 

did,  and  was  loaded  with  pieces  of  cardboard  cut  to  sizes,  and 
ready  to  fasten  together.  Going  back  to  the  bench,  my 
instructress  began  quickly  gluing  strips  of  paper  with  one 
finger,  then  transferring  the  glued  strip  to  the  edge  of  the  card 
with  her  other  fingers,  keeping  the  one  wet  with  glue  out  of 
the  way.  She  worked  with  incredible  speed.  My  first  day's 
work  consisted  in  little  more  than  fetching  cardboard  from  the 
cutters  and  stacking  boxes  that  my  teacher  seemed  to  produce 
on  her  work-bench  much  in  the  same  manner  that  a  conjuror 
produces  valuable  articles  out  of  nothing.  Once  or  twice  I 
essayed  the  gluing  of  the  boxes,  but  do  what  I  would,  I  could 
not  prevent  my  fingers  getting  glued  together,  and  had  to 
wash  them,  which,  my  companion  told  me,  was  waste  of  time. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  never  be  able  to  accomplish 
box-making,  and  from  conversation  with  other  girls  employed 
in  the  factory,  I  learned  that  it  takes  at  least  one  year's 
training  to  earn  as  much  as  six  shillings  a  week,  and  expert 
box-makers  require  a  training  of  three  years.  The  girl  who 
was  teaching  me  earned  fourteen  shillings  a  week,  and  she 
was  one  of  the  smartest  workers  in  the  factory. 

About  eighty  girls  and  young  women  were  employed  in 
this  place.  All  the  young  women  were  under  the  direct 
supervision  of  a  foreman  who  gave  out  work  to  the  piece- 
workers and  examined  it  when  finished. 

From  this  and  other  experiences  of  the  same  kind,  I  believe 
that  the  practice  of  putting  men  in  charge  of  young  girls  and 
women  is  a  very  unsatisfactory  one.  It  is  a  practice  that 
should  be  discouraged  as  much  as  possible.  How  often  I  have 
heard  the  girls  bitterly  complain  of  the  favouritism  and  injustice 
of  the  men  in  charge  of  their  work.  They  rarely  complain 
of  their  hours  or  their  wages,  but  they  are  almost  unanimous 
in  complaining  of  their  foremen  and  overlookers.  Of  course, 
on  behalf  of  the  foremen  it  may  be  said,  that  if  they  are  not 


82  TTbe  Soul 

severe  and  exacting,  this  class  of  girl  is  apt  to  get  out  of  hand , 
but  in  my  opinion,  a  very  serious  responsibility  rests  upon 
those  factory-owners  who  employ  men  overlookers  in  their 
women's  workshops. 

My  hours  of  work  in  the  box  factory  were  from  8.15  until 
12,  then,  after  an  hour's  rest  for  dinner,  work  started  again, 
and  continued  until  6  p.m.  In  busy  times  the  girls  worked 
on  until  8  p.m.  As  we  had  to  come  a  long  distance  to 
our  work,  we  generally  brought  our  dinner  with  us.  This 
consisted  of  slices  of  bread  and  butter  with  a  bit  of  ham  or 
beef  between,  but  some  of  the  girls  went  out  to  a  coffee-house 
near  by,  and  others  to  a  little  cook-shop,  where  they  got  meat 
and  potatoes  ready  cooked  and  brought  it  to  the  doors  of 
the  factory,  where  they  either  sat  in  groups  to  eat  it,  or 
wandered  about  in  the  streets  until  the  factory  opened 
again 

Men  have  forced  a  oetter  state  of  things  for  themselves, 
thanks  to  the  Trades  Unions,  factory-owners  are  obliged  to 
provide  suitable  eating-rooms  for  their  employees,  but  for 
women  workers  there  is  rarely  any  provision  made  for  them 
to  have  their  meals  in  comfort.  Long  hours  of  standing 
and  ill  -  chosen  and  unnutritious  food,  swallowed  in  any 
chance  corner,  make  it  impossible  for  the  girls  to  produce 
the  good  work  they  might,  if  they  worked  under  better 
Condition. 

At  the  magnificent  factory  of  the  National  Cash  Register 
Company  in  America,  where  I  was  a  guest  for  some  time,  I 
was  shown  the  girls'  dining-room,  where  the  Company  pro- 
vided meals,  that  anyone  might  have  enjoyed,  at  a  very  small 
cost  to  the  workers,  and  the  Directors  assured  me  that  since 
the  establishment  of  this  room,  where  good  food  was  com- 
fortably served,  the  girls'  capacity  for  work  had  been  increased 
at  least  one-third,  so  that,  as  one  of  them  put  it,  "  it  paid  in 


Fancies  an&  jfacte  «i 

actual  cash  to  look  after  the  workers."  The  Company  also 
had  a  splendid  cooking  school  for  the  girls. 

My  life  with  Annie  was  characteristic  of  a  factory  girl's 
life.  We  lived  together  as  friends,  went  to  work  together, 
and  returned  home  together.  She  took  me  to  some  of  the 
clubs  to  which  she  belonged. 

Once  I  went  with  her  to  a  "  penny  Jop."  This  was  a  dance 
given  in  the  back  parlour  of  a  small  public-house.  I  was 
afflicted  with  a  sprained  ankle,  which  is  a  disease  I  am  very 
subject  to  on  such  embarrassing  occasions,  so  I  sat  against 
the  wall,  and  watched  some  of  these  young  creatures  disport 
themselves.  The  young  men  took  them  out  occasionally  into 
the  bar  and  treated  them  to  drinks.  We  did  not  get  home 
until  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  found  that  these  evening  expedi- 
tions made  it  very  difficult  for  us  to  rise  in  the  morning  in 
time  for  our  work. 

We  had  to  rise  at  six  o'clock  in  order  to  catch  our  train, 
and  to  be  sure  of  getting  there  in  time  we  employed  a 
"knocker-up" — quite  an  institution  in  factory  life.  He  is  a 
man  who,  for  fourpence  or  sixpence  a  week,  undertakes  to  call 
at  any  hour  in  the  morning  persons  whose  business  requires 
them  to  be  up  at  hours  when  more  fortunate  mortals  are  fast 
asleep. 

Annie  and  I  took  it  in  turns  every  morning  to  get  our  own 
breakfasts.  We  had,  as  a  rule,  coffee  and  bread  and  butter, 
and  as  an  occasional  treat  we  would  have  a  slice  of  bacon  or 
a  bloater,  but  we  rarely  spent  more  than  twopence  on  our 
breakfast.  We  almost  always  ran  to  the  railway  station, 
where  we  had  to  push  our  way  through  a  crowd  of  men  to 
obtain  our  tickets  at  the  booking-office.  It  was  necessary  for 
us,  as  we  took  the  workmen's  train,  to  have  the  exact  amount 
of  fare  required,  as  no  change  was  given,  and  we  considered 
ourselves  extremely  fortunate  if  we  were  able  to  get  a  seat  to 


84  Ube  Soul  /i&arfcet 

our  destination.  Why,  I  wonder,  is  it  not  made  a  punishable 
offence  for  railway  companies  to  crowd  their  carriages  in  this 
shameful  way,  when  omnibus  companies  are  prosecuted  for 
carrying  an  overplus  of  passengers  ?  What  with  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey,  and  the  waiting  out  in  the  streets  until  the  factory 
gates  were  opened,  I  found  that  Annie  and  I  were  tired  almost 
before  work  begun,  and  I  hunted  for  some  place  where  we 
might  spend  a  little  time  while  waiting  to  commence  work. 

I  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  our  terminus  a  church, 
which  the  sensible  and  Christian  vicar  had  caused  to  be 
opened  in  the  morning  for  the  use  of  these  very  girls,  and 
here  I  discovered  from  seven  to  nine  o'clock  crowds  of  young 
women  seated  quietly  reading  or  sewing.  To  Annie  and  me 
this  place  was  a  God-send.  It  was  close  to  the  factory,  and 
every  morning  while  I  worked  at  this  place  we  found  a  shelter 
in  this  quiet  sanctuary.  It  would  be  a  good  and  noble  use  to 
which  many  churches  in  the  metropolis  might  be  put,  and 
many  a  young  life,  unsheltered  and  uncared-for,  might  be 
saved  and  protected  if  such  a  place  of  refuge  was  open  and 
easy  of  access. 

I  made  friends  with  several  of  the  girls  who  worked  in  this 
factory,  and  sometimes  we  were  accompanied  home  by  a  little 
throng,  whose  conversation  was  always  full  of  interest  to  me. 
I  was  interested  to  learn  that  the  reading  these  girls  most 
favoured  was  the  novels  we  know  as  "  Penny  Shockers." 
Annie  told  me  that  she  only  liked  the  ones  "  wif  plenty 
of  luv  and  blood  in  them."  They  delight  in  the  love-affairs 
and  intrigues  of  earls  and  duchesses,  and  revel  in  the  florid 
descriptions  indulged  in  by  the  writers  of  this  class  of  fiction. 

One  day  as  I  was  returning  from  work  with  Annie  a  girl 
came  up  and  joined  us.  She  began  telling  Annie  of  a  book 
she  had  just  been  reading. 

"  Yus,"  she  said ;  "  I  read  it  right  through  afore  I  went  to 


fancies  anfc  facts  85 

sleep.  As  I  was  a-sayin',  when  the  h'earl  read  thrs  "ere  false 
letter  what  this  'ound,  Sir  Eustice,  had  sent  'ira,  he  ups  and 
goes  down  the  marble  steps,  an'  out  inter  the  cold  night  air, 
and  goes  strite  down  the  avenoo,  and  there  he  comes  right 
atop  of  this  'ere  Sir  Eustice,  who  was  a-standin'  theer  wif 
Lidy  Clarise  in  'is  arms." 

"  Gawd  !  "  gasped  the  listener ;  "  wot  'e  do  ?  " 

"  'E  jest  folded  'is  arms  and  gazed  at  'em  cold-like  for  a 
orinit." 

"Yus;  an' then?'1 

"  Why,  Lidy  Clarise,  she  tears  'erself  out  of  the  arms  of  Sir 
Eustice,  and  flings  'erself  dahn  on  the  ground  at  the  h'earl's 
feet." 

"  Wot  'e  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  'e  treated  'er  wif  scorn  and  spumery-like." 

"Oh,  pore  gal!     Yus?" 

"  Then  'e  goes  for  the  'ound  wif  'is  riding-whip.  An'  the 
way  'e  set  abaht  'im  was  great,  strite.  Sir  Eustice  'owled 
for  mercy." 

"  Lor !  I  wouldn't  arf  like  to  read  it.  Bring  it  ter-morrer, 
will  yer,  Lizy  ?  " 

"  Right  oh  ! " 

"  Wot  d'yer  call  it  ?  ' 

"  '  The  Luv  wot  Kills.' " 

I  made  the  experiment  of  reading  to  some  of  these  girls 
Stevenson's  "Treasure  Island"  and  a  story  of  Mrs.  Hodgson 
Burnett's,  and  I  found  they  were  much  interested.  But  these 
books  are  not  to  be  bought  for  a  penny  or  twopence,  and  the 
factory  girl  has  not  surplus  cash  to  stock  a  library.  I  went  to 
three  Girls'  Clubs  and  took  out  books  in  order  to  see  the 
kind  of  literature  provided  for  these  hungry  young  minds.  In 
«ne  I  had  a  choice  of  sickly  stories  interlined  with  moral 
platitudes — in  another,  some  educational  books,  some  not 


86  TTbe  Soul  /l&arftet 

very  good  stories,  and  some  books  on  general  subjects  not  of 
much  interest  to  the  factory  girls.  In  a  third  I  found  some 
well-known  and  quite  excellent  books,  but  nowhere  was  there 
a  really  wise  selection.  Factory  girls  have  such  hard,  exacting 
toil,  and  as  a  rule,  such  a  good  supply  of  animal  spirits  and 
mental  energy,  that  they  must  find  an  outlet  for  their  pent-up 
feelings.  They  rush  screaming  out  of  their  factory  often — and 
will  dance  with  perfect  abandon  and  delight  to  the  strains  of 
a  barrel-organ  in  the  dinner-hour,  and  do  all  manner  of 
strange  things  purely  from  relief  at  being  out  in  the  air. 

I  used  to  grow  faint  very  often  in  the  cardboard  box  factory 
— the  air  was  bad,  the  light  bad  too,  and  the  lack  of  good 
food,  added  to  the  hardship  of  the  work,  No  woman  earned 
quite  a  pound  a  week  in  this  factory — we  had  continually  to 
work  overtime,  and  often  workers  were  obliged  to  go  out  ill. 
There  was  absolutely  no  thought  for  the  employees — yet  in 
looking  over  the  financial  columns  of  a  paper,  I  saw  the  year's 
dividend  paid  by  this  very  factory — and  the  profits  were 
most  excellent :  good  commerce  is  the  stay  of  the  nation,  but 
no  nation  can  hold  pre-eminence  whose  workers  are  underpaid, 
forced  to  labour  in  unwholesome  conditions,  and  unprovided 
with  suitable  resting  and  eating  places. 

My  experience  of  work  in  a  jam  factory  was  very  difficult  to 
endure.  I  got  employment  at  a  large  factory  of  this  sort.  It 
would  be  a  great  mistake  to  put  all  factory  workers  in  the 
same  category.  In  some  classes  of  trade  they  are  superior 
girls.  In  a  French  polishing  factory  which  I  know,  the  girls 
have  to  work  hard,  and  have  actual  manual  labour,  but  they 
are  better  paid  than  in  many  factories,  and  they  are  intelligent 
and  superior  girls.  But  in  the  jam  factories,  tin-box  factories, 
and  fur-sewing  houses,  the  workers  are  often  of  a  very  rough 
class.  In  these  branches  of  trade  many  married  women 
work,  and  the  behaviour  and  language  of  these  women  is 


fancies  an&  facts  87 

generally  bad.  One  reason  is,  that  a  man  must  be  low  and 
degraded  indeed  to  allow  his  wife  to  work  in  a  factory. 
The  women  are  therefore  of  a  rough  and  bad  type,  and 
the  young  girls  working  with  them  gain  no  good  from  this 
companionship. 

In  the  jam  factory  where  I  worked,  many  of  the  women 
used  "  to  keep  Saint  Monday  " — that  is,  they  used  to  drink 
heavily  on  Sunday,  and  be  so  unfit  for  work  on  Monday  that 
they  were  obliged  to  stay  away,  or  work  half  time  only. 

This  work  was  a  terrible  experience  for  me.  Some 
time  before  I  obtained  employment  in  this  place  I  had 
occasion  to  assist  at  a  treat  a  friend  was  giving  for  some 
factory  girls.  Many  of  her  guests  were  employed  in  a  jam 
factory.  I  had  not  realised  what  this  meant,  and  presented 
twenty  tins  of  the  best  jam  and  marmalade  obtainable  as  a 
small  contribution  to  the  feast.  On  the  night,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  one  of  the  girls  say : 

"  Lor,  what  muck — I  ain't  goin'  to  eat  none  o'  that." 

I  tried  to  explain  that  the  jam  was  the  most  expensive  and 
best  I  knew  of;  the  girl  laughed. 

"  You  doesn't  work  in  a  jam  factory,  miss,  ugh  !  " 

The  shudder  was  expressive.  Later  I  thoroughly  understood 
this  disgust  so  openly  expressed. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  employment  this  time,  for  I 
had  already  picked  fruits  for  bottling  at  a  factory,  shelled  peas, 
and  got  a  lien,  as  it  were,  on  work  of  this  sort.  The  applicants 
were  mostly  casual  workers,  poor  in  physique  and  appearance. 
I  was  one  of  the  twenty  selected.  The  salary  agreed  upon 
was  seven  shillings  a  week,  and  I  was  engaged  for  "  perhaps  " 
three  weeks  "  regular."  It  seemed  that  a  "  heavy  market " 
was  expected,  as  fruit  was  plentiful  and  of  a  perishable 
nature. 

I  went  to  work  at  once.     The  girls  passed  in  file  through  a 


88  abe  Soul  /IDarfcet 

door,  and  a  foreman  gave  each  one  a  brass  tally ;  these  we 
returned  at  noon  as  we  passed  out,  and  our  numbers  were 
entered  in  a  book  to  show  we  had  arrived  punctually. 

The  first  day  I  sat  on  a  stool  at  a  table  heaped  with  fruit 
and  "picked"  as  fast  as  I  could.  A  big  basket  stood  beside 
each  picker,  who  tossed  the  fruit  into  it  as  she  removed  stems 
and  leaves,  etc.  At  intervals  men  came  in  and  carried  away 
the  baskets,  leaving  others  in  their  place.  No  talking  was 
allowed.  None  of  the  women  or  girls  washed  their  hands 
before  beginning  their  work.  We  had  to  work  at  high 
pressure,  and  got  only  half  an  hour  for  dinner  at  midday. 

No  one  complained.  Workers  in  factories  do  not  often 
complain ;  there  are  too  many  women  in  the  labour  market 
for  them  to  be  able  to  choose  the  conditions  under  which 
they  wish  to  work,  especially  if  they  happen  to  be  unskilled 
workers. 

In  spite  of  their  unlovely  surroundings,  the  roughest  of 
factory  girls  have  many  redeeming  features.  In  this  very  jam 
factory,  for  instance,  were  two  girls  who  were  great  "  chums." 
They  earned  on  an  average  six  or  seven  shillings  a  week  each, 
and  lived  together,  sharing  their  possessions  like  sisters.  The 
younger  of  these  girls,  a  poor,  anaemic  creature,  fell  seriously 
ill  and  was  obliged  to  keep  her  bed.  Her  companion  kept 
her  all  through  her  illness.  She  was  a  wild  girl  and  loved  the 
streets,  but  when  her  friend  was  ill  she  flew  home  at  nights  to 
nurse  her.  Nobler  devotion,  or  more  unselfish  service,  no 
woman  could  render  another  than  this  girl  rendered  her 
dying  friend.  One  day  she  fainted  in  the  factory.  I  found, 
after  many  inquiries,  that  she  was  actually  starving  herself  in 
order  to  provide  food  and  tiny  delicacies,  such  as  an  orange 
or  whelks,  for  her  friend.  The  sick  girl  was  too  near  death  to 
care  even  for  whelks,  and  when  she  died,  as  she  did,  partly  of 
starvation,  her  generous  friend  nearly  broke  her  heart. 


ffancfes  anfc  jfacte  89 

it  would  be  leaving  out  one  of  the  most  pronounced 
attributes  of  these  working  girls  did  I  not  mention  their 
extraordinary  loyalty.  In  most  of  their  miserable  rooms  they 
contrive  to  have  cheap  prints  of  the  King  and  Queen.  If  ever 
any  of  them  should  have  chanced  to  see  the  King  or  Queen, 
such  an  one  acquires  an  added  dignity  among  her  companions. 
Now  that  I  have  shared  their  lives  and  understand  them,  I 
realise  what  splendid  citizens  might  be  made  of  these  some- 
what reckless  and  lawless  toilers,  if  one  could  take  them  with 
all  their  enthusiasms  and  capacity  for  devotion  and  affection, 
their  passionate  love  of  colour  and  beauty,  which  has  so  little 
vent,  their  swift,  dramatic  perception,  which  might  be  trained 
to  appreciate  noble  domestic  virtues,  and  give  them  the 
opportunities  of  a  saner,  wholesomer  life. 

Are  they  so  much  richer  and  wiser  in  America,  I  wonder, 
than  we  are  in  Great  Britain  ?  England  is  a  rich  country,  yet 
in  America  they  give  their  women  toilers  splendid  clubs  and 
fine  eating-houses,  bright  and  comfortable  places  where  they 
can  enjoy  the  companionship  of  their  lovers,  brothers,  and 
husbands  under  happy  conditions.  I  visited  scores  of  such 
places.  They  guard  their  people  by  such  societies  as  the 
"Consumers'  League" — a  League  for  the  supervision  of 
sweating,  and  the  safeguarding  of  the  workers.  They  shut 
out  of  their  country,  which  is  so  vast  that  they  might  well  find 
room  for  them,  the  hordes  of  alien  starvelings  that  we 
encourage  to  descend  upon  our  already  pressed  working 
people, 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    BRITISH    "  JUNGLE  "—WHAT   I   SAW   OF   THE   PRESERVED 
FOOD   TRADE 

WHEN  I  first  conceived  the  idea  of  enlisting  myself  in  the 
great  army  of  daily  workers  in  the  factories,  I  did  not  intend 
taking  part  in  any  reforms  other  than  those  which  concerned 
the  workers.  Indeed,  I  had  no  idea  of  the  revelations  which 
work  in  such  places  would  bring  to  me.  It  was  long  before 
the  agitation  in  regard  to  clean  food  had  begun,  and  I  had 
paid  no  attention  to  the  matter  of  food  preparation ;  my 
chiefest  interest  lay  in  the  workers  of  factories,  and  the  stories 
that  I  am  here  going  to  relate  are  merely  the  outcome  ot 
personal  experience  while  trying  to  gain  a  knowledge  of 
factory  girls  and  their  lives.  What  changes  have  come  over 
the  canning  trade  since  the  days  of  my  torment  I  am  not 
able  to  say.  I  obtained,  in  various  ways,  employment  in 
many  factories  of  different  kinds  in  and  about  London,  so 
that  my  experience  is  fairly  varied.  It  must  not  be  understood 
that  the  places  I  worked  in  are  typical  of  all  factories,  but 
they  certainly  are  typical  of  a  large  number.  For  instance,  I 
am  aware  that  there  are  many  up-to-date  clean  and  sanitary 
jam  factories.  Indeed,  I  have  visited  the  premises  of  some 
of  these,  and  have  been  a  guest  of  some  firms  who  own  great 
fields  and  orchards  in  the  country,  and  whose  fruit  is  beyond 
reproach.  But  the  proprietors  of  the  jam  factories  I  worked 

in  during  my  investigations  owned  no  fruit  gardens  of  their 

90 


TTbe  3Britisb  "Simple-  91 

own.  They  bought  in  the  cheapest  markets,  and  sold  in  the 
dearest.  There  is  only  one  consolation  which  comes  to  those 
who  work  in  such  places,  and  that  is  that  even  wealth  does 
not  protect  people  from  the  dirty  and  disgustingly  manu- 
factured stuffs  sent  out  from  these  places ;  for  their  sale  is  not 
confined  to  the  very  poorest  classes.  It  may  be  some  little 
compensation  to  the  miserable  toilers  to  think  that  a  fine  lady, 
with  all  the  dainty  tastes  fostered  by  great  wealth  and  elegant 
surroundings,  may  perhaps  partake  of  some  preserved  delicacy 
which  has  been  made  in  filthy  and  insanitary  workshops  by 
suffering  and  dirty  people.  It  is  an  unconscious  levelling 
process  which  brings  some  small  satisfaction  when  one  is 
almost  heart-broken  with  indignation  and  helplessness  after 
experiences  in  such  places. 

It  was  early  in  July,  when  the  fruit  season  was  almost  at  its 
height,  that  I  obtained,  after  a  long  night  out  in  the  London 
streets  with  dejected  and  homeless  creatures,  a  temporary  job 
in  a  jam  factory.  It  is  generally  known  that  there  are 
very  stringent  factory  regulations  as  to  hours,  cubic  space  of 
air,  sanitary  arrangements,  and  so  forth.  The  place  I  worked 
in  was  within  the  area  of  the  working  of  these  Factory  Acts ; 
but  during  the  few  days  I  was  there,  never  a  sign  of  an 
inspector  did  I  see,  nor  indeed,  from  the  conduct  of  the 
owners  of  the  place,  did  I  observe  much  apprehension  on 
their  part  of  raids  by  Government  officials.  Things  went  on 
in  the  even  tenor  of  their  way.  There  were  some  score  or 
more  of  women  and  girls  who,  like  myself,  had  spent  the 
night  wandering  the  streets  of  London.  This  kindly  town 
had  offered  us  no  place  of  refuge  where  we  could  have 
washed  or  made  ourselves  in  any  way  decent  or  fit  to 
take  up  work  in  a  fruit-preserving  factory.  One  of  the 
women  had  some  nasty  skin  disease ;  what  it  was  I  am 
not  able  to  say.  They  were  all  desperately  dirty,  and 


92  Ube  Soul 

absolutely  unfit  to  touch  food  that  was  meant  for  human 
consumption. 

As  the  fruit  was  brought  in  almost  unexpectedly,  and  in 
great  quantities,  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  be  disposed 
of  immediately  as  the  weather  prevented  its  keeping.  Straw- 
berries, plums,  and  raspberries  came  in  daily  in  enormous 
quantities.  We  were  at  the  factory  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
and  worked  all  day,  with  about  ten  minutes  for  food  at  noon, 
and  another  ten  minutes  about  four,  till  eight  o'clock  and 
after,  thus  exceeding  the  working  limit  allowed  by  the  Factory 
Act.  This  was  done  every  day  while  I  was  in  this  particular 
place.  Of  course,  no  workers  under  such  circumstances 
would  ever  make  a  complaint,  seeing  that  this  was  their 
only  plank  between  death  by  starvation  and  a  chance  of 
a  meagre  existence.  The  love  of  life  seems  so  strongly 
implanted  in  human  beings  that  they  are  willing  to  prolong 
it  even  at  hideous  cost  of  suffering.  One  observation  which 
a  stranger,  coming  from  what  we  are  pleased  to  call  heathen 
countries,  eannot  fail  to  make  in  Christian  countries,  is  the 
almost  insane  horror  of  death  in  their  inhabitants.  In  no 
country  have  I  seen  this  exemplified  to  a  greater  degree  than 
in  England.  It  is  true  that  the  poor  possess  this  fear  in  a 
less  degree  than  the  well-to-do  and  better  educated,  but  there 
is  little  of  that  calm  expectation  of  Fate  that  one  finds  in  the 
East.  I  have  often  wondered,  when  working  among  the  poor, 
and  seeing  their  evil  condition,  how  it  is  that  they  do  not  put 
an  end  to  their  sufferings  by  death ;  but  rather  than  that,  they 
endure  hunger  and  cold,  awful  fatigue  and  sleeplessness,  day 
after  day. 

In  the  mornings  we  entered  the  jam  factory  and  took  our 
places  at  stools,  on  either  side  of  which  were  placed  two 
enormous  baskets,  the  one  filled  with  fruit  and  the  other 
empty.  It  was  our  business  to  pick,  as  rapidly  as  possible, 


ttbe  Brftfsb  "3unale"  93 

the  stems  and  leaves  from  the  fruit  in  the  one  basket  and 
throw  the  stuff  thus  prepared  into  the  other,  ready  to  be 
carried  away  to  the  boiling  room. 

There  was  no  place  in  this  factory  where  the  workers  could 
wash  their  hands,  nor  were  there  sanitary  arrangements  of 
any  description.  We  sat  down  as  we  had  come  out  of  the 
street  and  began  work.  The  baskets  of  fruit  were  carried  in 
by  men,  and  sometimes,  on  days  of  great  pressure,  by  women, 
and  placed  by  the  side  of  the  stools,  and  we  worked  at  high 
speed,  the  foreman  coming  along  every  few  minutes  to 
urge  us  to  "  Hurry  up  ! "  and  "Look  sharp  there  ! "  The  heat 
was  so  intense  that  the  perspiration  poured  down  the 
unfortunate  workers,  and  every  now  and  again  a  woman 
would  put  up  her  hand  to  dash  off  the  moisture  from  hei 
forehead  and  face.  The  fruit  was,  of  course,  not  washed.  It 
came  to  the  factory  in  huge  vans,  piled  high  in  large  baskets. 
It  was  the  practice  of  this  particular  factory  to  buy  at  Covent 
Garden  market  the  second  or  slightly  "off"  fruit,  which  was 
unsaleable  to  fruiterers,  costermongers,  or  green  -  grocers. 
Owing  to  the  heat  and  pressure  of  packing,  the  fruit  often 
arrived  at  the  factory  in  a  half-fermenting  mass;  indeed, 
so  bad  was  it  often,  that  it  was  impossible  to  pick  out 
whole  fruit.  All  we  could  do  was  to  take  up  the  mess  by 
handfuls,  pick  out  any  leaves  or  stems  that  were  prominent, 
and  throw  it  into  the  next  basket  in  a  sort  of  pulp. 

Now  this  firm  was  by  no  means  an  unknown  or  poor  one. 
Not  very  long  ago  I  noticed  with  some  amusement  a  case  in 
the  papers  where  several  hundredweight  of  fruit,  designed  for 
a  factory,  was  seized  by  the  inspector.  A  case  was  made,  and 
the  manager  appeared  in  court,  dreadfully  distressed,  of  course, 
that  such  a  thing  should  have  taken  place,  declaring  that  it 
was  entirely  an  accident,  and  that  on  arrival  at  the  factory  the 
fruit,  when  discovered  to  be  in  a  bad  state,  would  inevitably 


94  Ube  Soul  fl&arftet 

1  ave  been  destroyed.  A  small  fine  was  inflicted,  and  the 
fruit  confiscated.  No  one,  of  course,  took  any  further  notice 
of  the  matter.  The  incident  amused  me,  because  it  was 
a  common  occurrence  for  fruit  to  arrive  at  the  factory  where 
I  worked  in  such  a  state  that  any  decent  person  would  have 
considered  it  unfit  for  human  consumption. 

Our  wages  never  exceeded  seven  shillings  a  week,  which 
was  considered  an  extremely  high  rate  of  pay,  though  the 
hours  of  work  were  sometimes  twelve  or  thirteen.  The 
sugar  used  in  the  manufacture  of  these  jams  is  almost  in- 
variably what  is  called  "  grape  "  sugar — that  is  to  say,  it  is 
manufactured  from  beetroot,  potatoes,  or  any  other  substance 
yielding  sugar,  except  cane. 

Another  experience  I  had  was  in  a  marmalade  factory.  It 
was  a  well-advertised  concern,  and  lay  not  far  from  London. 
The  chief  director  of  this  factory  (for  it  is  owned  by  a  small 
company)  is  a  man  of  high  standing  in  his  church.  He  is 
noted  for  his  eharity  and  public  beneficence,  and  indeed,  he 
might  well  afford  this  exhibition  of  piety,  since  the  working  of 
his  business  costs  him  so  little.  In  this  factory  are  employed 
some  seventy  women  and  girls,  and  between  thirty  and  forty 
men.  The  women  were  of  a  very  low  class — foul-mouthed 
and  drunken.  The  men  were  more  respectable,  and  carried 
more  responsibility.  Their  wages  were  not  high,  but  they 
were  engaged  chiefly  in  superintending  the  work.  Every 
room  had  a  foreman.  In  all  my  experience  of  factory  work 
I  have  continually  heard  the  same  complaint  made  where  men 
are  employed  to  supervise  girls  and  women.  It  would  not,  of 
course,  be  polite  to  retail  all  that  one  hears  of  the  evils  arising 
from  such  a  system,  but  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  fact  has 
come  to  my  own  knowledge  of  two  girls  who,  rather  than  give 
up  their  only  means  of  livelihood,  submitted  to  the  wishes  of 
the  foreman  under  whom  they  worked.  It  is  not  pleasing  to 


TTbe  3Brftf0b  "Smtflle"  95 

contemplate  the  closing  chapters  of  such  histories.  In  the 
marmalade  factory  more  regard  was  paid  to  the  hours  of 
work,  and  as  I  entered  here  on  what  may  be  called  the 
permanent  staff,  I  did  not  see  so  much  of  dirt  among  the 
actual  workers.  The  working  space  was  very  limited,  and 
the  atmosphere  anything  but  pure,  owing  to  insufficient 
ventilation.  I  was  never  able  to  find  out  where  the  oranges 
were  bought,  and  I  cannot  give  as  authentic  the  story  in 
common  circulation  in  the  factory,  that  the  great  quantities 
of  orange  peel  which  I  myself  saw  brought  in  were  swept  off 
the  streets.  I  had  no  means  of  verifying  this  statement,  but 
this  I  do  know,  that  the  oranges  which  came  in  great  baskets 
piled  one  on  the  top  of  the  other  in  the  company's  own  vans 
were  often  in  a  state  of  decay.  One  morning  the  consign- 
ment of  fruit  for  the  day's  boiling  was  so  bad  that  the  workers 
made  open  jokes  about  it  when  the  foreman  was  not  too  close. 
One  basket  of  oranges  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  unpacking 
and  counting  contained  fruit  so  bruised  and  crushed  down, 
and  evidently  of  such  age,  that  there  was  a  growth  of  greeny- 
white  mildew  on  the  top  and  between  each  layer.  I  pointed 
this  out  to  the  foreman,  and  was  promptly  told  that  that  was 
no  concern  of  mine,  and  that  if  I  could  not  mind  my  own 
business  there  were  "  others  as  could." 

The  curious  part  of  the  food-preserving  trade  seems  to  me 
the  marvellous  way  in  which  the  ingenious  owners  of  these 
factories  can  turn  out  quite  nice-looking  stuffs  from  half- 
decayed  and  diseased  material.  Of  course  there  are  the 
usual  dyeing  and  other  processes,  and  these  have  evidently 
been  brought  to  such  a  state  of  perfection  that,  in  appearance 
at  least,  the  prepared  articles  give  no  hint  of  their  unsavoury 
origin.  This,  I  think,  might  be  considered  a  tribute  to  the 
progress  of  modern  science  in  the  matter  of  food  adulteration. 

I  was  particularly  struck  with  the  brutalising  effect  factory 


96  ZTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

life  seems  to  have  on  married  women.  These  are  often  of  a 
most  degraded  type.  They  are  offensive  personally,  and  use 
vile  language.  As  a  rule,  their  homes  are  miserable  hovels. 
In  India  and  Arabia  the  conditions  among  married  women  in 
factories  are  very  different  to  those  obtaining  in  Great  Britain. 
In  those  heathen  countries  the  married  women,  who  work 
almost  invariably,  keep  their  earnings  for  themselves.  Often 
the  factory  workers  own  a  considerable  amount  of  silver 
jewellery,  which  is,  of  course,  an  Eastern  way  of  saving 
money.  The  women  who  have  babies  are  given  an  oppor- 
tunity to  feed  their  little  ones,  who  are  brought  to  the 
factories.  There  is  no  destruction  of  child-life,  or  degradation, 
as  there  is  in  Christian  countries.  The  factories  too  are  open 
and  airy  places. 

After  my  experiences  in  the  jam  and  marmalade  factories,  I 
sought  other  places  where  I  might  make  further  investigations, 
in  order  that  my  experiences  should  not  be  one-sided. 

So  it  was  that  during  my  tours  of  discovery  among  the 
labouring  and  outcast  people,  I  ventured,  among  other 
experiments,  upon  a  term  of  service  in  a  butcher's  shop, 
and  later,  in  order  to  learn  something  of  the  methods  of  trade 
exchange  in  this  country,  I  became  a  seeking  purchaser  of 
several  meat  shops,  and  also  of  a  pork  pie  shop.  It  was  not 
with  a  view  to  investigating  the  food  trade,  however,  that  I 
did  this,  but  more  with  a  view  to  ascertaining  the  conditions 
under  which  girls  work  in  these  places,  and  also  to  find  out 
for  myself  some  of  the  fraudulent  methods  of  shop  sale  and 
exchange,  of  which  I  had  heard  a  good  deal  at  various  times. 
These  frauds  have  been  many  times  exposed  in  the  daily 
press ;  it  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge  how  the  unwary 
purchaser  of  a  small  tobacco  store  is  introduced  by  an 
unscrupulous  agent  and  taken  over  the  premises  by  a  wily 
proprietor.  He  is  shown  a  few  boxes  filled  with  cigars  and 


ffirftfsb  " Jungle"  97 

cigarettes,  a  few  pounds  of  tobacco  and  other  goods,  which 
lead  him  to  suppose  that  the  whole  stock  is  bond  fide.  When 
the  purchase  is  complete,  the  victim  discovers  either  that  the 
back  rows  of  boxes  filling  the  shelves  are  empty  or  dummy 
boxes,  or  that  they  contain  such  inferior  brands  that  the  value 
is  depreciated  to  an  almost  imperceptible  amount. 

A  friend  of  mine,  the  manageress  of  a  well-known  club,  to 
whom  I  was  speaking  in  reference  to  the  catering  of  this 
establishment,  told  me  that  she  was  once  companion  to  a  rich 
old  lady  in  the  country.  The  hobby  of  this  woman  was 
farming,  and  she  bred  cattle  and  sheep  which  she  sold  at 
considerable  profit.  The  horrid  part  of  the  story,  however, 
was  the  calm  way  in  which  my  friend  informed  me  that  she 
never  bought  foreign  meat  because,  not  only  was  the  meat 
not  as  economical  as  really  good  home-killed  meat,  but  that 
farmers  and  others  who  bred  cattle  for  the  market  always  sold 
their  worst  specimens  to  be  killed  and  offered  for  public  sale 
as  foreign  meat.  The  old  lady  who  employed  my  friend  had 
an  invariable  practice,  when  her  sheep  or  cattle  were  tuber- 
culous or  in  any  way  diseased,  of  disposing  of  them  at  a 
cheaper  price  to  be  sold  as  foreign  meat.  My  experience  of 
the  meat  trade  in  London  caused  me  for  a  long  time  to 
become  a  vegetarian,  and  now  when  I  use  meat  at  all,  it  is 
only  when  it  is  bought  at  places  like  the  Army  and  Navy 
Stores,  or  similar  concerns,  which  gain  no  advantage  from 
selling  inferior  and  miscalled  offal  to  the  public. 

I  found  it  would  be  very  difficult  for  me  really  to  learn 
anything  about  the  fraudulent  disposal  of  petty  shops  unless 
I  entered  the  market  as  a  purchaser.  With  the  help  of  a 
friend,  I  managed  to  get  into  touch  with  several  small  meat 
butchers  in  and  about  London,  who  had  businesses  for  sale. 
A  method  I  found  very  effective  in  managing  this  was  to  put 

an  advertisement,  stating  that   I   required  to  buy  a  small 

G 


98  Tlbe  Soul 

business,  in  the  weekly  journal  devoted  to  the  meat  trade.  I 
usually  had  many  answers  each  time,  and  was  thus  able  to 
examine  the  workings  of  small  butchers'  businesses  in  various 
parts  of  the  town.  Then  again,  I  obtained  employment,  also 
through  the  same  paper,  as  book-keeper  in  a  butcher's  shop, 
and  it  was  during  this  period  that  I  gained  my  knowledge  of 
one  side,  at  any  rate,  of  the  meat  trade  in  this  country. 

I  worked  as  well  in  two  meat-preserving  factories,  or  rather 
one  factory  where  preserved  meats  were  prepared,  and  another 
where  table  jellies  were  manufactured :  they  were  not  model 
factories.  At  the  time,  I  was  filled  with  disgust  and  indigna- 
tion at  the  way  greedy  and  unscrupulous  men  made  fortunes 
out  of  the  unsuspecting  public,  by  providing  them  with  vile 
substitutes  for  food ;  but  having  other  work  to  do  at  the  time, 
I  did  not  use,  except  in  a  casual  way,  the  great  mass  of 
information  which  I  was  able  to  collect  during  this  period. 
As  meat  is  unfortunately  the  staple  food  of  the  British  people, 
I  will  give  a  short  description  here  of  some  of  the  bye-trades 
dealing  with  meat  and  some  of  the  products  supposed  to  be 
meat  I  deal  chiefly,  of  course,  with  meat  killed  and  manu- 
factured in  this  kingdom.  With  foreign  tinned  goods  I  do  not 
concern  myself.  It  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge  that 
live  cattle  are  brought  over  in  thousands  to  this  country, 
chiefly  from  the  Argentine,  America,  Australia,  and  New 
Zealand.  The  enormous  growth  of  this  trade  during  the 
last  few  years  may  be  gathered  from  these  figures. 

It  was  about  the  year  1876  that  the  American  continent 
began  to  supply  Britain  with  "  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England." 
In  that  year  we  imported  5,513  tons  only.  Last  year  we 
received  175,611  tons.  Australia  began  exporting  meat 
about  1881.  She  sent  over  first  565  tons,  and  in  1905 
96,518  tons.  But  the  most  marvellous  increase  is  that  from 
the  Argentine,  from  where  we  first  imported  19  oxen  and  375 


ttbe  Btitfsb  «  Jungle  "  99 

sheep  ;  this  was  in  1889.  In  1900  there  were  imported  into  this 
country  32,079  oxen  and  144,573  sheep.  The  trade  was  then 
stopped  on  account  of  the  foot  and  mouth  disease,  and  last 
year  we  received  again  19,643  beasts  and  65,493  sheep.  Last 
year's  imports  from  the  United  States  and  the  Argentine  States 
reached  the  largest  on  record.  They  amounted  to  175,611 
tons  for  1905.  Forty-two  per  cent,  of  the  supply  is  thus 
contributed  by  America,  and  the  Argentine  and  Australia 
send  23  per  cent.,  and  only  217  per  cent,  is  produced  in  this 
country. 

The  number  of  inspectors  of  meat  in  the  city  of  London  is 
eight.  Last  year  there  arrived  in  the  London  market  415,296 
tons.  These  figures  speak  for  themselves.  The  inspectors 
are  conscientious  men,  willing  to  do  the  best  that  lies  in  their 
power.  The  amount  of  work  expected  of  them  renders  their 
office  ridiculous.  The  animals  slaughtered  in  the  Metropolitan 
Cattle  Market  was  173,904 ;  of  this  number  1,001  animals  were 
condemned  as  totally  unfit  for  food,  at  no  less  than  twenty- 
eight  river-side  wharves  at  which  food  is  received.  There 
has  lately  arisen  a  custom  for  the  "  whole-salers  "  to  send  vans 
direct  to  these  wharves,  and  have  the  goods  delivered  to  the 
retailers  direct,  thus  adding  to  the  difficulties  of  meat  inspec- 
tion. After  having  given  these  illuminating  figures,  some  of 
my  later  experiences  may  not  appear  so  astounding  as  they 
might  otherwise  do. 

The  meat-packing  factory  I  worked  in  was  owned  by  a 
large  company  and  a  very  rich  one.  It  is  run  in  a  name 
that  has  been  familiar  for  many  years  to  the  British  public. 
Among  other  abominations  which  arrived  in  this  factory,  were 
enormous  cases  of  meat,  tongues,  sheep's  hearts,  and  livers, 
which  were  delivered  here  from  America  and  other  places. 
There  is  a  class  of  goods  which  is  called  facetiously,  in  the 
trade,  "  Bulgarian  atrocities."  This  consists  of  sheep  that 


ioo  Ube  Soul  /IDarfcet 

comes  from  Servia.  They  are  frozen,  and  often  arrive 
in  London  in  very  indifferent  condition;  indeed,  the  con- 
signments are  of  such  poor  quality  that  they  have  earned 
the  title,  "  Bulgarian  atrocities." 

On  one  occasion  there  came  into  the  factory  where  I  worked 
four  enormous  wooden  cases  containing  tongues  and  sheep's 
hearts,  which  were  mildewed  over,  and  smelt  so  fearfully  that  the 
odour  made  one  physically  sick ;  the  whole  air  was  polluted  by 
the  smell  from  these  horrid  cases,  and  yet  every  scrap  of  that 
diseased  offal  was  used  in  the  preparation  of  potted  tongues  and 
savouries  of  different  kinds.  It  is  necessary,  during  the  process 
of  preservation,  to  season  these  goods  very  profusely,  and  also 
to  use  various  dyes  in  order  to  bring  the  pulped  meat  to  a 
proper  appearance.  Recently,  a  noted  analyst  described  in 
the  London  press  how  it  is  possible  to  preserve  and  pack 
animal  matter  in  a  state  of  early  decay  without  causing  the 
tins  wherein  it  is  packed  to  bulge  or  show  any  sign  of  the 
generation  of  gases  or  decomposition.  I  know,  from  my  own 
observation  of  the  stuffs  packed  in  this  factory,  that  this 
statement  is  absolutely  correct,  for  the  food  preserved 
and  packed  was  so  effectually  doctored  that  no  further 
decomposition  took  place,  once  the  tins  were  hermetically 
sealed.  Large  quantities  of  these  preserved  materials  were 
sent  abroad  to  firms  of  quite  well-known  reputation.  The 
girls  and  women  with  whom  I  worked  were  case-hardened. 
They  were  among  the  lowest  and  most  miserable 
specimens  of  humanity  that  I  have  come  across.  No  woman 
or  girl  in  this  particular  factory  earned  more  than  fifteen 
shillings  a  week,  and  indeed,  the  average  wage  was  between 
eight  shillings  and  eleven  shillings.  I  did  not  notice  any 
definite  disease  among  the  workers,  but  their  bodily  condition 
was  so  extremely  unsavoury  and  disagreeable  that  added  to 
the  hideous  smells  of  the  animal  matter  that  was  being 


ZTbe  Brftfsb  " Jungle"  101 

preserved,  it  rendered  life  almost  intolerable.  The  air-space 
for  the  workers  was  of  course  not  anything  like  as  great  as 
that  prescribed  by  the  Factory  Act.  Ventilation  was  insufficient, 
and  the  condition  of  the  factory  itself  insanitary.  It  is  true 
that  in  this  case  they  had  one  domestic  office  which  could  be 
used  by  the  hands.  What  its  original  condition  was  I  am 
unable  to  say;  but  owing  to  the  number  of  people  using 
it,  and  the  character  of  the  people  themselves,  who  are  not 
blessed  with  any  large  sense  of  decency,  it  became  absolutely 
impossible.  In  this  place,  amid  a  perfect  miasma  of  stench 
and  animal  organisms,  was  prepared  food,  which  was  placed 
upon  the  market  and  retailed  to  the  unsuspecting  and  careless 
public.  How  much  this  individual  factory  has  changed  since 
I  worked  in  it  four  years  ago,  I  am  not  able  to  say ;  but  I  am 
convinced  of  this,  that  a  leopard  would  as  soon  change  his 
spots,  as  the  directors  of  that  particular  place  would  consent 
to  any  improvements  which  entailed  the  spending  of  money, 
unless,  indeed,  these  were  forced  upon  them  by  the  strong 
hand  of  the  law  and  a  fear  of  complete  exposure. 

A  coster  lad  once  boasted  of  how  he  had  bought  a  bit  of 
meat  for  a  few  pence  that  was  worth  as  many  shillings.  At 
a  small  shop  where  the  meat  was  exposed  for  sale,  almost  on 
the  pavement,  he  noticed  a  skewer  in  a  bit  of  meat  that  was 
rotting.  This  he  removed,  and  taking  it  to  the  other  side  of 
the  counter,  stuck  it  into  a  good  joint.  He  inquired  of 
the  butcher  the  price  of  it,  and  was  told  its  approximate 
value. 

"What!"  he  said;  "three  shillings  for  that  offal?  Smell 
it ! "  He  drew  out  the  tainted  skewer,  the  butcher  smelt  it, 
and  let  the  lad  have  the  meat  for  threepence.  The  question 
is,  Whose  morality  was  worse,  the  butcher's  or  the  boy's  ? 

In  the  matter  of  preserved  foods,  the  responsibility  for  the 
sort  of  goods  that  are  constantly  placed  on  the  market  is 


io2  trbe  Soul  /iDarfeet 

divided  among  so  many  people  that  it  is  difficult  to  bring 
home  to  any  particular  set,  the  crime  which  is  undoubtedly 
perpetrated  from  day  to  day.  I  fancy  that  the  recent  public 
interest  aroused  in  the  matter  of  preserved  foods,  and  the 
additional  vigilance  of  factory  inspectors,  will  tend  greatly 
towards  reform  in  such  matters.  But  human  nature  does  not 
change,  and  unless  a  constant  supervision  of  all  food-preserving 
factories  is  kept  up,  they  will,  of  course,  lapse  into  evil 
conditions. 

On  one  occasion  I  took  a  lodging  in  a  little  street  where 
most  of  the  houses  were  owned  by  a  Polish  Jew  who  rack- 
rented  them.  In  another  room  in  the  same  house,  there  lived 
a  baker  with  his  wife  and  family.  The  man  had  himself,  at 
one  time,  owned  a  small  baker's  shop,  but  through  drink  and 
other  misfortune  he  had  contrived  to  bring  himself  down  to 
the  very  dregs  of  the  labour  market.  To  supplement  this 
man's  earnings,  his  wife  worked  for  a  Jew  sweater — she  made 
button-holes.  This  baker  undertook  to  introduce  me  to  some 
of  the  mysteries  of  the  baking  trade,  and  it  was  through  his 
instrumentality  that  I  learned  the  condition  of  some  of  the 
baking  houses  in  London.  It  is  true  that  these  were  not  of 
the  best  class;  but  it  is  equally  true  that  people  who  use 
cheap  tinned  meat  are  not  of  the  richest  class  either,  and 
surely  the  customers  of  the  one  class  are  of  no  less  value  than 
the  customers  of  the  other.  In  one  big  house,  which  was  a 
sort  of  underground  vault,  damp  and  ill-smelling,  there  were 
thirty  men  employed,  all  of  a  very  degraded  class  and 
exceedingly  filthy.  The  dough  was  being  kneaded  with  the 
feet,  and  the  air  was  so  stifling  and  hot  that  the  perspiration 
poured  down  in  streams  from  the  men  into  the  dough. 
There  were  other  abominations  in  this  place  which  it  is 
hardly  possible  to  describe  without  trespassing  too  closely 
on  the  indecent. 


3Britf0b  "Sunole"  103 

They  habitually  used  foreign  eggs.  These  were  broken 
indiscriminately  into  huge  troughs,  beaten  up  and  used, 
whatever  their  condition.  The  stench  from  them  was 
absolutely  loathsome. 

In  a  baker's  shop  where  I  obtained  employment  in  the 
West  End  they  used  eggs  which  were  sent  from  Holland  in 
great  casks — that  is  to  say,  the  eggs  were  broken  into  these 
casks,  and  packed  in  Holland — they  were  not  in  their  shells 
such  as  those  that  are  sent  over  for  household  cooking  or 
table  use.  This  is  decidedly  a  trade  that  ought  to  be  stopped 
at  once,  for  it  was  a  usual  occurrence  that  these  eggs  arrived 
in  a  semi-decayed  state.  Of  course  they  were  never  destroyed, 
as  the  loss  would  have  been  too  great.  They  were  well  beaten 
up,  and  owing  to  the  flavourings  used  and  the  baking  they 
were  subjected  to,  it  was  remarkable  how  little  apparently  bad 
effect  they  had  on  the  pastries  and  cakes  they  were  used 
for. 

In  a  meat-packing  factory,  also  in  London,  I  saw  tongues 
and  pork  that  came  in  for  pressing  and  to  make  brawn, 
actually  in  such  a  decayed  condition  that  they  were  falling  to 
pieces,  and  the  smell  was  shocking.  In  this  factory  we  were 
paid  shamefully  low  wages,  and  we  constantly  worked  longer 
hours  than  the  law  allows.  The  staff  was  reinforced  in  the 
heavy  season  by  relays  of  tramps  from  the  gutters  and  river- 
side. Their  usual  bodily  condition  was  offensive  and  beyond 
description.  These  people  were  employed  to  handle  the  food 
which  the  British  public  paid  a  good  price  for  without 
requiring  any  assurance  as  to  its  purity  and  fitness  for 
consumption.  For  myself,  with  my  intimate  knowledge  of 
some  of  these  factories,  I  would  inquire  very  particularly  as 
to  the  brand  of  preserved  food  I  was  invited  to  consume,  and 
would  need  an  assurance  that  the  factory  where  it  was 
manufactured  was  open  to  any  of  the  public  who  cared  to 


xo4  Ube  Soul  /l&arfcet 

visit  it.  I  venture  to  say,  an  exceedingly  small  percentage 
of  the  manufacturers  of  food  stuffs  would  dare  to  invite 
unexpected  or  frequent  inspection  of  their  premises, 
employees,  and  materials  by  the  public  or  by  Government 
officials. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ACROSS  THE   "  HERRING   POND  " — MY   AMERICAN  EDUCATION— 
THE    AMENITIES    OF    CHICAGO 

DURING  my  social  and  professional  travels  on  the  Continent 
and  in  Britain,  I  met  a  good  many  Americans,  and 
received  several  invitations  to  visit  America.  This  I  had 
always  wished  to  do.  Indeed,  it  had  been  a  question, 
before  I  came  to  England,  of  deciding  between  London, 
Boston,  and  Paris  for  my  professional  education.  The 
choice  turned  on  London  for  various  reasons,  and  I 
have  no  cause  to  complain  of  the  consequences,  but  there 
had  always  existed  the  desire  to  visit  America.  I  am 
afraid  that  my  ideas  of  this  great  country  were,  in  spite 
of  a  great  deal  of  reading,  rather  the  ideas  of  the  average 
Britisher.  It  was  the  country  of  "  I  guess,"  and  "  I 
calculate,"  and  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin";  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  pumpkin  pies,  dentists  and  women's  colleges  which 
gave  degrees  that  we  knew  very  little  about  in  other  parts 
of  the  world.  Still,  the  desire  to  see  the  new  continent 
was  strong  in  me,  and  when  the  Women's  Temperance 
Union  of  America  and  Canada  gave  me  an  invitation  to 
speak  at  their  Convention  at  Cincinnati,  and  to  give  a 
recital  there  to  several  thousands  of  their  members  from 
other  parts  of  the  world,  and  when  my  agent  in  London 
advised  me  to  go  on  a  preliminary  trip,  promising  to  do 

what  he  could  for  me,  I  desired  to  avail  myself  of  the 

105 


io6  ITbe  Soul  /iDarfeet 

opportunity  of  trying  my  fate  in  this  great  world.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  though  the  promises  of  work  and 
welcome  seemed  fair  enough,  I  had  not  the  necessary 
capital  to  make  so  expensive  an  experiment.  One  day, 
about  that  time,  I  was  working  extremely  hard,  and  got  a 
sudden  attack  of  illness.  A  dear  friend  who  had  asked 
me  to  come  and  spend  Sunday  with  her  was  put  off  with  a 
note  in  which  I  explained  that  I  was  not  good  company 
and  was  unfitted  to  see  anyone.  Shortly  after,  she  arrived 
at  my  lodgings  and  carried  me  by  storm.  Now  this  lady 
belongs  to  the  aristocracy  of  England ;  she  has  a  title,  but  is 
not  rich ;  she  had  already  been  extremely  kind  to  me,  and 
had  given  me  valuable  introductions.  During  the  conver- 
sation she  drew  from  me  the  real  cause  of  my  distress — 
the  fact  that  I  did  not  dare  to  risk  my  small  capital  on  a 
trip  to  America.  She  insisted  on  having  a  cab  there  and 
then  and  taking  me  off  to  her  house,  and  that  afternoon 
she  gave  me  a  cheque  for  ^£100,  saying:  "Return  it  when 
you  can,  my  dear ;  of  course  we  must  do  our  best  to  help 
each  other  in  this  life."  She  knew  she  had  nothing  to  gain 
from  me,  and  she  was  not  a  rich  woman.  The  love  and 
honour  in  which  I  hold  her  for  that  kindness  has  inspired 
some  of  my  best  efforts,  and  I  hope  my  subsequent  success 
justified  her  confidence  in  me. 

I  went  to  America  knowing  only  three  people  whom  I  was 
likely  to  meet;  when  I  returned,  five  and  a  half  months 
later,  I  had  visited  seventy  homes  of  people,  from  millionaire 
to  mechanic,  and  had  travelled  several  thousands  of 
miles,  finding  everywhere  friends  and  welcome  and  the 
warm-hearted  hospitality  which  is  the  characteristic  of  this 
magnificent  country.  From  New  York,  where  I  stayed  in 
turn  with  four  friends,  I  went  to  Evanston,  near  Chicago. 
This  delightful  town  is  called  the  Athens  of  America.  It  is 


Bccoss  tbe  "  f>eitfn0  iDoufc"  107 

a  town  of  colleges  and  a  community  of  travelled  and  cultivated 
people,  than  whom  I  never  met  any  more  charming.  I 
gave  several  recitals  in  the  State  of  Illinois,  and  while  there, 
entered  into  a  contract  with  a  Lyceum  Bureau  for  three 
seasons'  recitals  in  America,  each  season  to  last  twelve 
weeks  consecutively  in  each  year.  Subsequent  illness  and 
my  marriage,  however,  altered  my  plans,  and  I  have  yet 
to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  the  American  public  from 
the  platform,  with  now  a  new  bond  of  friendship,  since  my 
husband  has  represented  America  for  twenty-five  years  in 
Muscat  Arabia.  While  here,  I  was  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Milward  Adams,  whose  husband  is  manager  of  the  Chicago 
Auditorium,  which  is  famed  as  being  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  perfectly-constructed  opera  houses  and  concert  halls 
in  the  world.  Mrs.  Adams  has  a  studio  at  the  Auditorium 
Hotel  for  the  study  of  expression,  voice-culture,  and  gesture- 
She  has  lectured,  by  the  invitation  of  the  French  Government, 
in  Paris,  and  by  invitation  also  in  St.  Petersburg.  She  is 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  American  women.  To  her  classes 
came  all  manner  of  people  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
They  are  open,  and  all  strangers  are  welcome,  provided  they 
are  really  interested.  Mrs.  Adams  stands  on  a  small  platform 
in  front  of  her  audience  and  lectures.  Then  the  students 
are  called  out,  one  here,  and  one  there,  to  read  or  recite 
various  passages,  to  demonstrate  by  gesture  some  striking 
passage,  or  to  give  examples  of  inflection  on  various  words. 
Mrs.  Adams  did  me  the  compliment  of  asking  me  to 
speak  to  her  students.  I  did  so  with  much  diffidence,  and 
she  was  to  me,  from  that  day,  one  of  the  best  friends  I  had 
in  America.  By  invitation  of  Professor  M'Coluch,  I  also 
gave  a  lecture  to  the  students  in  the  beautiful  School  of 
Oratory  at  the  University  of  Evanston,  and  in  several  of 
the  Universities  and  Colleges. 


io8  Ube  soul  /l&arftet 

In  Chicago  is  located  the  settlement  which  is  organised 
and  maintained  by  another  lady  of  similar  name,  though 
having  no  connection  with  Mrs.  Milward  Adams.  Miss 
Adams  is  a  well-known  student  of  sociology.  She  kindly 
invited  me  to  visit  the  settlement  which  is  placed  in  an 
extremely  poor  district  in  this  city  of  evil  reputation.  A  visit 
to  the  settlement  is  a  liberal  education  in  the  making  of 
citizens.  Here  is  a  workmen's  restaurant,  so  delightfully 
appointed,  so  well  equipped,  so  cheap  and  so  comfortable, 
that  any  worker  or  artisan  drawing  an  ordinary  wage  would 
find  himself  better  catered  for  than  the  average  city  man  in 
London. 

The  people  of  Chicago  are  most  appreciative  of  anything 
beautiful  or  artistic.  One  of  the  plans  in  the  University 
settlement,  which  also  I  visited,  is  to  educate  the  young 
children  to  a  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  to  cultivate  mind 
and  eye  to  an  appreciation  of  "whatsoever  things  are  true, 
whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things  are  just, 
whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely  and 
of  good  report." 

On  a  certain  day  in  each  week  a  lady  attends  in  the  book- 
lending  room ;  here  are  stored  copies — engravings  and  prints, 
of  all  the  most  beautiful  masterpieces  in  the  world.  Also 
pictures  of  flowers  and  plants  and  lovely  places,  all  beautifully 
executed.  These  pictures  are  in  cheap  frames,  arranged  with 
ribbons  or  rings  for  hanging  up,  and  they  are  lent  out  to  the 
children  for  a  week,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  little  ones 
bring  back  these  treasures,  and  the  lady  generally  questions 
them  to  see  what  ideas  they  have  gathered  from  the  picture. 
Some  of  the  remarks  and  thoughts  elicited  are  most  quaint 
and  amusing.  Each  little  borrower  is  then  given  a  new 
picture,  and  so  they  are  taught  to  educate  both  eye  and 
mind.  One  extraordinary  thing  about  these  children,  who, 


across  tbe  "Tberrfns  potto"  109 

by  the  way,  are  almost  all  foreigners,  is  the  fact  that  in  the 
one  generation  they  are  transformed  from  wild  little  savages 
into  bright  and  intelligent  citizens.  One  of  the  workers 
introduced  me  to  a  Polish  family.  The  father  and  mother 
could  speak  only  about  six  words  of  broken  English.  They 
had  a  tiny  store  of  money,  and  were  wholesome,  and  con- 
sidering that  they  were  Polish,  not  very  dirty.  They  them- 
selves had  had  no  education,  and  belonged  to  the  unskilled 
labouring  classes.  They  came  to  America  with  two  children, 
a  boy  and  a  girl,  and  two  others,  both  boys,  were  born  to 
them  after  their  arrival  in  the  United  States.  They  lived  in 
one  room  in  a  mean  street  in  Chicago,  the  father  working  as 
parcels  man  in  a  "  dry  goods  store."  This  man  took  advantage 
of  the  free  education  offered  for  his  children.  I  saw  his  little 
girl  at  a  dancing  class  held  in  the  settlement,  and  his  boys 
attended,  besides  the  usual  day  school,  evening  classes,  where 
one  learnt  the  violin,  one  wood-carving,  and  another,  having  a 
perfect  passion  for  pictures,  was  being  taught  drawing.  These 
children  all  spoke  English  perfectly,  with  a  fine  American 
accent,  and  were  healthy  and  thriving-looking.  They  gave 
every  promise  of  making  admirable  citizens,  yet  they  were  the 
children  of  immigrants  who  could  neither  read  nor  write.  So 
much  for  the  work  of  the  American  public  schools  and  the 
settlements  which  are  established  in  the  mean  places  of  nearly 
all  large  American  cities.  Whatever  the  evils  rampant  in 
America,  and  we  are  well  acquainted  with  these,  for  it  is 
human  nature  to  delight  to  dwell  on  the  sins  and  short- 
comings of  our  neighbours,  magnificent  tribute  might  justly 
be  paid  to  the  American  charity  which  is  practical,  and  I 
might  almost  say  gilt-edged,  for  it  is  so  munificent. 

On  one  occasion,  I  was  invited  to  give  a  recital  for  the 
benefit  of  a  local  charity  in  a  town  about  three  hours  distant 
from  New  York.  One  wholesome  trait  about  American 


no  Ube  Soul  fl&arfcet 

charity  is,  that  when  they  ask  entertainers  or  lecturers  and 
other  artistes  to  help  in  their  philanthropic  schemes,  they  do 
not  expect  them  to  be  the  donors  of  the  entire  entertainment. 
They  are  actuated  by  a  sentiment  of  justice,  and  are  willing  to 
pay  the  people  who  thus  help  them  to  raise  money.     It  is 
quite  a  matter  of  choice  whether  an  entertainer  cares  to  give 
his  services  for  nothing,  for  if  he  is  of  good  repute,  and  his 
work  appreciated,  he  will  always  be  able  to  demand  a  fee, 
even  at  a  charity  entertainment.     At  one  of  these  places,  I 
found  myself  at  the  end  of  the  journey  met  by  a  lady  and  her 
husband,  who  brought  their  sleigh  for  me.     The  temperature 
was   below  zero,  and   the  snow  lay  thick  on   the  ground. 
We  were  well  wrapped  up  in  furs,  and  I  was  driven  to  the 
outskirts  of  a  little  American   town,  there  to   find   myself 
hospitably  received  in  a  small   and  comfortable   house,   a 
typical  American  home  of  a  well-to-do  working  man.     The 
recital  was  for  the  benefit  of  a  Home  for  the  orphan  children 
of  workmen,  mechanics,  and  others,  and  I  was  entertained  by 
the  Secretary  of  the  Home.     He  was  a  man  engaged  as  an 
electric  engineer  in  one  of  the  great  works  of  New  York.     All 
his  spare  time  was  devoted  to  the  interests  of  this  Orphan 
Home.     The  little  menage  where  I  found  myself  installed 
gave  me  a  delightful  idea  of  the  prosperity  and  comfort 
enjoyed  by  America's  working  people.     The  house  itself  was 
the  usual  wooden  structure  common  to  all  American  towns. 
It  contained  only  two  storeys.     Below  was  a  large  basement, 
in  which  the  central  furnace  was  kept  burning  day  and  night 
— the  man  himself  attended  to  this.     The  house  was  warmed 
with  hot  air  throughout,  and  was  admirably  comfortable,  there 
being  no  draughts  or  chilly  passages  anywhere.     The  woman 
had  clothes  which  in  England  would  have  been  worn  only  by 
a  lady  who  was  accustomed  to  buy  her  things  from  some 
great  West  End  firm,  and  I  found  afterwards  that,  with  the 


Hcross  tbe  "iberrfna  ponfc"  m 

help  of  an  occasional  dressmaker,  she  made  almost  all  her 
own  clothes.  The  entire  cooking  and  house-work  was 
done  by  the  lady  herself.  The  breakfast  was  served  at 
a  quarter  to  seven  in  the  morning,  and  the  day  I  was 
there  it  consisted  of  fish  balls,  such  as  one  might  get  in 
England  at  the  Carlton  or  Savoy ;  two  kinds  of  hot  bread, 
delicious  coffee,  grape  fruit,  several  kinds  of  preserves,  and 
the  inevitable  buckwheat  cakes  with  maple  syrup.  I 
asked  my  hostess  how  she  had  managed  to  provide  such  an 
excellent  meal  so  early  in  the  morning  without  confusion 
or  trouble  of  any  kind.  She  took  me  into  the  kitchen 
and  showed  me  how  it  was  arranged  with  all  conveni- 
ences for  modern  cookery  and  time-saving  appliances,  and 
she  told  me  that  she  prepared  most  of  the  food  the  night 
before. 

We  are  so  apt  in  this  country  to  think  of  American 
women  as  people  who  neglect  their  homes  and  their 
husbands,  while  they  dress  up  in  fine  clothes  and  go 
about  spending  the  men's  hard-earned  money.  My  visit, 
however,  to  the  seventy  American  homes,  certainly  dissipated 
any  such  false  impression.  America  is  essentially  a  country 
of  splendid  housewives.  On  one  other  occasion  I  stayed  in 
New  York  as  guest  in  the  house  of  one  of  the  old  American 
families.  It  was  a  beautifully-appointed  dwelling,  and  con- 
tained some  priceless  art  treasures.  The  father  was  a  great 
mill-owner,  a  man  of  charming  and  genial  disposition.  There 
were  two  girls,  one  extremely  pretty,  and  they  each  took 
charge  of  the  house  by  turns.  Every  morning  one  of  the 
daughters  breakfasted  with  her  father  before  eight  o'clock,  for 
though  he  was  several  times  a  millionaire  he  was  always  in  his 
office  by  nine  o'clock  every  morning,  and  did  not  return  home 
till  six.  The  daughters  had  travelled  all  over  Europe  and 
America,  and  had  been  to  Japan.  They  were  both  splendidly 


n2  Ube  Soul  /iDarftet 

educated,  and  yet  their  housekeeping  capacity  was  delightful 
to  see. 

One  other  characteristic  of  American  families  which  strikes 
a  stranger  visiting  the  country  in  such  an  intimate  way  as  I 
did,  is  the  beautiful  friendship  that  exists  between  fathers  and 
their  daughters.  The  American  man  seems  to  make  real 
companions  of  his  women-folk,  and  to  hold  them  in  much 
chivalrous  respect.  The  girls  are  usually  given  equal  educa- 
tional privileges  with  the  sons,  and  being  a  new  country,  there 
is  no  rule  of  entail,  nor  is  it  usual  for  the  eldest  son  to  inherit 
the  entire  property  to  the  almost  total  exclusion  of  the  younger 
sons  and  the  daughters.  A  father's  property  in  America  is 
divided  on  a  just  basis  between  all  his  children.  Thus  the 
country  benefits,  and  women  are  at  once  put  on  a  higher 
plane. 

A  unique  experience  was  the  visit  I  paid  of  about  three 
days  to  the  Martha  Washington  Hotel  in  New  York,  which  is 
the  only  women's  public  hotel  in  the  world.  Like  all  new 
ventures,  even  in  go-ahead  America,  it  was  considered  some- 
thing of  a  risk  to  devote  an  hotel  entirely  to  the  use  of  women. 
No  men  are  received  as  guests  there  ;  the  place  is  always  full, 
and  commercially  it  has  justified  its  existence.  All  the 
appointments  and  arrangements  are  such  as  one  would  meet 
with  at  a  first-class  general  hotel  in  England;  in  fact,  there 
are  a  great  many  improvements  which  one  does  not  meet 
with  in  the  older  country.  There  are  hair-dressing  saloons, 
newspaper  stalls,  telegraph  and  telephone  offices,  typewriting 
offices  where  a  stenographer  may  be  hired  by  the  hour  or 
day,  public  dining  and  coffee-rooms,  a  florist's  shop,  and  all 
the  usual  appurtenances  of  civilisation  found  in  the  one 
building. 

My  experimental  mind  at  once  conceived  the  idea  of  a 
similar  hotel  in  London,  which,  if  carried  out  on  the  same 


Hcross  tbe  "Derrtns  fccmfc"  113 

excellent  plan  as  the  Martha  Washington,  might  be  made  to 
pay  magnificently,  for  there  is  no  place  in  the  world  to  which 
more  unattached  females  come  than  to  this  great  city.  Besides 
the  annual  visitors,  there  are,  of  course,  thousands  of  women 
working  for  their  daily  bread,  for  whom  there  is  but  meagre 
and  most  unsatisfactory  accommodation  in  this  city.  It 
would,  however,  require  some  education  to  bring  the  British 
mind  to  realise  that  it  would  be  well  for  her  working  women 
to  have  a  place  where  they  might  obtain  perfect  comfort  and 
independence.  There  is  inherent  in  the  English  mind  a 
deep-rooted  idea  that  all  women  should  be  kept  in  a  certain 
amount  of  tutelage.  This  would  be  extremely  advantageous, 
no  doubt,  were  they  not  obliged  to  bear  so  many  public 
burdens,  and  to  earn  not  only  their  own  living,  but  often  to 
support  relations. 

Although  I  got  as  far  as  Milwaukee  and  Chicago  in  the 
west,  I  was  not  able  to  go  further  south  than  Baltimore  in 
Maryland.  Here  I  stayed  with  friends,  and  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  house  was  organising  a  fite  in  aid  of 
what  she  called  the  "  George  Junior  Republic."  I  inquired 
as  to  what  this  might  mean,  and  the  inquiries  led  me  to  visit 
one  of  the  most  interesting  places  in  the  United  States. 

This  Junior  Republic  was  formed  after  the  model  of  one 
started  by  Mr.  George,  a  philanthropist  and  student  of 
sociology  in  New  York  State.  The  object  was  to  take  boys 
and  girls,  chiefly  those  who  would  have  been  condemned, 
perhaps  to  prison  or  punishment,  under  what  we  should  here 
term  the  First  Offenders'  Act,  and  place  them  in  a  colony 
where,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  they  were,  as  one  might  say, 
pioneers  of  their  own  fates.  It  was  a  marvellous  idea  to  give 
to  these  young  people  a  feeling  of  responsibility  and  citizenship, 
and  the  plan  has  worked  out  satisfactorily. 

To  this  Junior  Republic  come  lawless  young  spirits  who  are 


H4  ftbe  Soul  fl&arfeet 

treated  like  rational  human  beings.  Every  boy  is  expected 
to  do  a  certain  amount  of  work  for  his  food,  clothes,  and 
maintenance.  They  have  a  Court-house,  in  which  offenders 
are  tried  by  their  peers — that  is  to  say,  the  judge  and  jury  are 
chosen  from  among  the  boys  of  the  community,  and  they 
apportion  and  inflict  the  punishment. 

In  the  different  houses  where  the  boys  and  girls  are  located, 
there  are  grown-up  citizens,  men  and  women  of  means,  who 
have  given  up  their  c\»n  comfortable  homes  in  order  to  live 
with  and  among  these  young  people,  helping  them  and 
training  them  for  citizen  duties.  The  "  Citizens "  are 
paid  in  the  special  coin  of  the  Junior  Republic,  and  all 
take  a  share  in  the  daily  work,  whether  in  the  house, 
in  the  fields,  workshops,  laundries,  or  any  other  avocation 
necessary  to  civilisation. 

There  was  a  feeling  of  wonderful  enthusiasm  and  com- 
radeship about  the  whole  place.  All  the  young  citizens 
seemed  to  know  each  other,  as  did  also  the  adult  members 
of  the  community,  and  a  spirit  of  frendliness  and  prosperity 
pervaded  the  atmosphere.  By  this  sensible  method,  boys 
and  girls  who  might  otherwise  have  turned  out  to  be 
criminal,  and  a  burden  to  the  State,  were  converted  into 
self-respecting  and  useful  citizens.  I  was  told  that  the  effect 
on  unruly  characters  of  this  government  by  other  young 
people  was  wonderfully  advantageous.  A  boy  who,  under 
chastisement  and  discipline  by  adult  strangers,  would  probably 
become  morose  or  savage,  would,  if  condemned  to  punishment 
by  a  committee  of  boys  in  the  Republic,  take  his  punishment 
manfully,  and  set  to  work  to  redeem  his  character.  There  was 
not  that  sense  of  injury  and  desperation  which  is  engendered 
by  the  administration  of  the  adult  criminal  law. 

Here,  in  England,  on  one  occasion,  in  conjunction  with  a 
girl  friend,  I  helped  to  organise  an  entertainment  on  behalf  of 


across  tfoe  "Iberring  ipoufc"  115 

the  Police  Court  Home  for  boys,  which  is  carried  on  by  a 
branch  of  the  Church  of  England  Temperance  Society.  This 
Home  is  situated  at  Yiewsley.  A  Police  Court  missionary 
is  often  successful  in  preventing  a  first  offender  being  branded 
as  a  criminal  with  a  sentence  of  imprisonment,  by  undertaking 
himself  that  the  boy  shall  be  kept  under  supervision  at  such 
a  Home  as  Yiewsley.  The  lads  there  are  taught  all  manner 
of  useful  crafts,  and  encouraged  in  every  way  to  become  self- 
supporting,  useful,  and  respectable,  and  a  more  excellent  work 
one  can  hardly  find  than  this,  which,  to  the  benefit  of  all 
decent  citizens,  takes  young  hooligans  and  destitute  lads  and 
gives  them  a  chance  of  becoming  decent  men.  There  is  not, 
however,  anywhere  in  England,  not  even  at  any  of  the  colonies 
supported  by  the  Salvation  Army,  anything  at  all  analogous  to 
the  George  Junior  Republic  in  America.  We  still  keep  to  the 
more  old-fashioned  methods. 

One  other  social  reform  in  which  America  has  taken  the 
lead,  is  the  separate  court  for  the  trial  of  child  offenders.  It 
was  my  privilege  in  Philadelphia  to  be  the  guest  of  the  lady 
who  was  the  President  of  the  Mothers'  Congress,  and  was,  I 
think,  instrumental  in  gaining  for  the  country  the  Government's 
sanction  for  the  Child  Courts.  I  believe  now  the  trials  are  not 
open  to  the  public,  and  this  is  a  very  wise  improvement.  I 
was  fortunate,  however,  in  being  present  on  the  occasion  when 
a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  was  tried  on  a  charge  of  theft. 
It  was  his  first  offence,  and  the  circumstances  of  the  case  were 
pathetic.  The  little  fellow,  it  seemed,  was  a  newspaper  boy, 
and  accustomed  to  earn  a  small  sum  of  money  regularly.  He, 
however,  met  with  an  accident  which  prevented  his  getting 
about  quickly,  and  he  lost  his  work.  He  had  two  little  sisters 
and  a  crippled  mother,  and  it  made  a  difference  in  the  tiny 
home  whether  the  boy  earned  money  or  not.  Being  led  away 
by  bad  example,  he  fell  into  temptation,  and  stole  a  dollar 


n6  ube  Soul 

from  a  newspaper  counter  where  a  customer  had  put  it  down 
in  payment  of  a  bill.  The  little  fellow  was  terribly  frightened 
when  he  entered  the  court,  and  seemed  like  a  hunted  animal, 
casting  terrified  looks  all  round.  The  judge  came  in,  and 
without  ceremony  or  formality  of  any  kind  he  sat  down  in  a 
chair,  and  putting  out  his  hand,  drew  the  boy  close  to  him. 
He  spoke  to  the  child  long  and  earnestly,  showed  him  the 
dreadful  consequences  of  crime,  and  asked  him  whether  he 
would  like  to  disgrace  his  little  sisters,  and  have  people  in  the 
streets  point  to  his  poor  old  mother  and  say  :  "  That  woman's 
son  is  a  thief  in  prison."  It  was  a  wonderful  lesson  to  see  the 
wise,  calm  way  in  which  this  gentleman  dealt  with  the  child. 
The  boy  was  in  tears  and  perfectly  heart-broken.  He  promised 
never  to  offend  again,  and  instead  of  being  sentenced  to  prison 
and  branded  as  a  criminal,  he  was  made  over  to  a  settlement 
such  as  I  have  described,  where  the  authorities  guaranteed 
his  good  behaviour.  The  case  of  the  mother  and  sisters  was 
inquired  into  and  relief  was  afforded  them.  Thus  one  family 
was  saved  from  disgrace  and  criminality. 

During  the  time  of  my  visit  to  Baltimore,  the  weather  was 
extremely  cold,  indeed  the  temperature  was  often  below  zero  ; 
but  I  gave  several  recitals  in  the  city,  and  having  an  introduc- 
tion from  a  friend  of  the  President's  I  went  to  Washington  to 
see  Mr.  Roosevelt.  Mr.  Shaffer,  who  had  entertained  Mr. 
Roosevelt  in  Evanston,  and  who  was  one  of  the  most  kindly 
friends  I  had  made  in  America,  had  made  an  appointment 
through  Mr.  Loeb,  the  President's  secretary,  for  me  to  be 
received  at  the  White  House.  Washington  was  white  with 
snow  when  I  presented  myself  at  the  President's  residence, 
and  there  were  waiting  in  the  public  hall  several  dozens  of 
people,  besides  newspaper  men,  Senators  from  distant  states, 
and  various  ladies  who  were  bent  on  seeing  the  President  for 
some  purpose  or  another.  The  collection  of  females  impressed 


Bcross  tfee  "tberrtns  fconfc"  n» 

me  most.  They  were  nearly  all  old,  and  rather  unattractive 
— good  people,  no  doubt — who  were  waiting  to  make  the 
President's  life  a  burden  to  him  by  demanding  the  instant 
suppression,  say,  of  corsets,  or  false  hair,  or  patent  medicines, 
or  some  such  reform  as  they  panted  after.  They  all  seemed 
weighed  with  enormous  responsibilities,  and  it  taxed  my 
chaperon's  patience  and  temper  to  keep  them  from  question- 
ing me  with  particular  minuteness  as  to  all  my  affairs. 
Presently  one  of  the  President's  secretaries  came  out,  and 
announced  that  Mr.  Roosevelt  would  be  glad  to  see  me.  I 
had  purposely  put  on  a  very  pretty  dress,  and  I  went  in  with 
some  misgiving,  for  I  had  no  business  with  the  President ;  but 
when  I  entered  he  received  me  with  a  cordial  hand-shake,  and 
said  he  was  very  pleased  to  see  me.  My  dress  seemed  to 
please  him,  and  when  I  apologised  for  taking  up  his  time,  not 
having  the  excuse  of  real  business,  he  smiled,  and  said  he  was 
very  glad  of  a  little  break. 

The  President  is  a  fine,  strongly-built  man,  with  a  rough- 
hewn,  honest  face,  and  a  very  strong  one  too.  Nobody  who 
has  ever  seen  Mr.  Roosevelt  could  feel  anything  but  the  most 
cordial  admiration  and  respect  for  him.  He  is  so  simple  and 
straightforward  in  his  manner,  so  kindly  and  so  unaffected. 
His  whole  appearance  gives  one  the  impression  of  strength 
and  wholesomeness,  both  of  body  and  mind.  I  heard  some 
delightful  stories  of  the  President's  home-life,  and  how  he  is 
adored  by  his  children.  The  White  House  is  an  unpreten- 
tious place,  rather  like  a  good  country  house.  There  are 
several  beautiful  apartments  in  it,  all  tastefully  but  very  simply 
furnished;  there  is  no  ostentation  or  display.  One  of  the 
most  interesting  personages  on  the  White  House  staff  whom  I 
saw  was  an  old  attendant  who  had  been  a  servant  of  the 
former  Presidents  McKinley  and  Cleveland.  He  had  many 
amusing  stories  to  tell  of  the  receptions  and  other  functions 


us  Ube  Soul  flDarfoet 

held  in  the  White  House.  He  gave  us  the  information  that 
Mrs.  Cleveland's  receptions  were  the  most  crowded  that  had 
ever  taken  place  there,  and  amusingly  described  how  the 
people  had  to  be  pushed  and  pulled  along  in  order  that  the 
crowds  might  be  passed  through  quickly  enough  on  reception 
evenings. 

One  characteristic  that  must  strike  every  visitor  to  America 
is  the  extreme  courtesy  extended  to  all  strangers  by 
public  officials.  At  every  place — not  only  at  Washington, 
but  at  every  other  city  that  I  visited — the  officials  were  ex- 
ceedingly considerate  and  helpful,  and  most  of  them  went 
out  of  their  way  to  show  me  courtesy,  and*  help  me  to 
understand  and  enjoy  sight-seeing  in  their  cities. 

The  American  newspapers  are  the  bewilderment  and 
despair  of  all  new  -  comers.  I  remember  one  morning 
asking  for  a  paper  at  a  public  stall,  and  being  handed  over 
a  great  pile  of  printed  matter  and  pictorial  advertisement.  I 
explained  carefully  that  I  wanted  only  one  paper — I  seemed 
to  have  been  presented  with  about  three  dozen — but  the  man 
informed  me  that  it  all  was  only  one  Sunday  paper,  and  I  had 
the  benefit  of  it  for  five  cents.  Of  course  one  has  to  live  in  a 
country  for  a  little  while  before  knowing  exactly  what  papers 
one  is  likely  to  read  with  pleasure  and  with  confidence.  I 
had  necessarily  a  good  deal  to  do  with  American  journalists, 
although  I  avoided  as  much  as  possible  interviews  and 
paragraphs  in  the  papers,  because  I  wished  to  reserve  these 
things  until  I  had  a  better  acquaintance  with  the  country,  and 
was  visiting  it  for  a  longer  period  in  a  public  way.  However, 
the  interviewers  haunted  the  hotels  and  houses  where  I 
stayed,  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  avoid  them.  I  found  them 
pleasant  enough,  and  if  they  asked  me  any  question  I  did 
not  wish  to  answer,  I  merely  said  I  did  not  consider  it  a 
subject  that  would  interest  the  public.  Of  course  I  suffered, 


across  tbe  "iberrfng  ponfc"  119 

like  every  visitor  to  the  States,  by  having  things  imputed  to 
me  which  I  was  not  responsible  for  at  all.  My  lectures  and 
speeches  were  often  reported  not  quite  correctly.  On  one 
occasion,  in  a  Western  State,  the  papers  came  out  with  an 
enormous  head-line,  saying  that  I  considered  the  American 
women  neither  beautiful  nor  clever.  I  had  never,  of  course, 
said  anything  of  the  kind.  What  I  had  said  was,  that  I  had 
met  as  beautiful  women  in  England,  and  certainly  just  as 
clever  ones  as  I  had  met  in  America,  which  was  perfectly 
true. 

I  was  entertained  by  some  of  the  leading  women's  clubs, 
and  had  an  opportunity  of  noting  the  differences  of  social  life 
in  America  and  in  this  country.  In  America  the  women's 
clubs  are  all  more  or  less  what  we  should  call  in  this  country 
societies  or  associations.  Each  club  is  organised  and  main- 
tained, not  for  specific  social  purposes,  as  most  of  the  clubs  in 
England  are,  but  with  some  definite  philanthropic  or  more 
serious  object  in  view,  and  in  these  clubs  are  born  most  of 
the  ideas  which  bear  fruit  in  the  shape  of  social  reforms. 
For  instance,  the  Consumers'  League,  which  is  a  large 
organisation  composed  of  women  of  every  grade  of  society, 
was  begun  in  one  of  the  women's  clubs,  and  it  was  in  a  club 
in  Chicago  that  I  first  heard  an  account  of  its  work.  The 
members  bind  themselves  to  buy  no  articles  which  are  manu- 
factured under  sweated  conditions,  and  houses  where  work  is 
done  are  under  supervision,  and  are  granted  special  licenses 
for  the  purpose.  They  also  bind  themselves  not  to  shop  after 
certain  hours,  and  to  abstain  from  purchasing  anything  from 
shops  which  employ  sweated  labour.  It  need  hardly  be 
pointed  out  what  a  boon  such  an  organisation  is,  and  what 
splendid  fruit  its  work  has  borne.  Most  ,pf  the  clubs  meet  at 
the  great  hotels  or  public  buildings.  They  give  luncheons  or 
dinners,  to  which  strangers  are  invited.  In  Philadelphia  the 


t*o  tbe  Soul  flbarfeet 

New  Century  Women's  Club  has  a  fine  building  of  its  own, 
and  in  Chicago  the  Athletic  Club,  where  I  gave  a  recital  in 
aid  of  one  of  the  hospitals,  is  a  splendid  building.  These 
clubs  are  not  used  only  for  social  purposes,  as  we  use  our 
clubs  in  England. 

In  New  York  and  the  "East"  I  was  begged  not  to  ex- 
press my  admiration  for  the  "West."  Chicago  was  not  to 
be  mentioned  in  polite  society!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
enjoyed  the  "West"  extremely,  and  admired  the  bright, 
kindly  "Westerners."  I  was  obliged  to  explain,  in  self- 
defence,  that  to  a  Far  Easterner  such  as  myself,  there  was 
no  perceptible  difference  in  people  who  lived;  in  a  town  one 
hundred  years  old  and  those  who  lived  in  one  two  hundred 
years  old.  As  to  American  accents — New  York  folk  pride 
themselves  on  their  voices  and  tones,  and  sneer  at  "  Western  " 
people.  To  a  stranger,  however,  the  difference  in  accents 
is  hardly  noticeable. 

All  states  are  alike  in  one  thing,  and  that  is,  the  kindly 
hospitality  shown  to  visitors.  American  men  are  perhaps 
the  most  gallant  on  earth.  Their  ideal  of  women  is  so 
high  that  they  are  not  afraid  to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  at 
first  sight  and  propose  to  her  "right  away."  Being  only  a 
girl  myself,  I  simply  loved  all  the  delightful  attentions  that 
were  shown  me.  I  wished  I  could  have  brought  home  some 
of  the  wondrous  Beauty  Roses  with  which  I  was  welcomed 
in  most  of  the  places  where  I  visited.  We  have  nothing  like 
them  in  England.  The  u  candies,"  too,  were  in  a  girl's  par- 
lance "dreams."  Paris  itself  can  show  none  better.  Ameri- 
cans are  extremely  fond  of  sweets  and  bombard  their  guests 
with  them,  which  is  really  a  most  pleasant  habit. 

I  returned  to  New  York  in  order  to  take  my  passage  for 
England,  as  I  had  engagements  to  fulfil  in  this  country.  It 
so  happened,  however,  that  instead  of  being  able  to  return 


Hcross  tbe  "  ifcerrfna  jpon&  " 


by  the  line  which  had  brought  me  out,  I  was  obliged 
to  take  a  boat  of  another  line  in  order  to  fulfil  a  last 
engagement  in  New  York  and  keep  my  first  one  of  the 
season  in  this  country.  It  was  a  fearfully  cold  day,  and 
ice  lay  thick  in  the  streets.  The  cabman  had  to  get  off 
the  box  and  lead  the  horse  step  by  step.  Every  now 
and  then  the  unfortunate  animal  seemed  to  slip  back  three 
or  four  steps,  and  I  began  to  despair  of  ever  reaching  my 
boat.  However,  encouraged  by  a  large  bribe,  the  cabby  did 
manage  to  get  me  to  the  wharf  in  time.  I  found  several 
friends  on  board  waiting  for  me,  and  my  cabin  was  sweet 
with  flowers.  There  were  numbers  of  parcels  containing 
parting  gifts  which  had  been  sent  to  me  by  thoughtful 
friends.  We  started  fairly  enough,  and  the  next  day  we 
were  able  to  sit  out  on  deck.  The  third  day,  however, 
some  of  the  machinery  seemed  to  have  gone  wrong,  and  we 
had  to  slow  down.  However,  we  eventually  got  to  Plymouth, 
and  those  passengers  who  had  decided  to  take  rail  there 
were  indeed  fortunate,  though  at  the  time,  when  watching 
them  embark  in  fearfully  swaying  boats  in  a  heavy  sea, 
we  congratulated  ourselves  that  we  were  going  to  land  at 
a  more  convenient  harbour.  Before  putting  into  South- 
ampton, we  had  to  land  some  passengers  and  mails  at 
Cherbourg.  About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  we  were 
awakened  by  a  dreadful  shock  to  the  vessel,  which  nearly 
flung  us  out  of  our  berths.  All  the  furniture  in  the  cabins 
rattled,  and  the  trunks  broke  away  and  rolled  about  on  the 
floors.  I  waited  for  a  few  minutes  to  see  if  there  would  be 
any  fresh  shocks  or  sign  of  confusion.  I  heard  passing  and 
repassing  of  people,  and  went  to  my  cabin  door  to  inquire 
the  reason  of  the  excitement.  A  steward  facetiously  informed 
me  that  the  captain  had  got  tired  of  the  sea-voyage  and 
was  taking  an  overland  route.  It  appears  that  through  some 


122  £be  Soul 

fault  of  the  pilot,  or  through  some  mismanagement,  we  had 
touched  the  rocks  off  Cherbourg,  and  a  large  hole  was  stove 
in  the  ship,  but  we  were  able  to  proceed  very  slowly  towards 
Southampton.  Near  the  Isle  of  Wight,  we  found  ourselves 
in  a  somewhat  thick  fog,  and  as  we  were  at  lunch,  another 
dreadful  shock  caused  us  to  rise  hastily  from  the  table  and 
hurry  on  deck.  An  extraordinary  sight  met  our  eyes :  our 
boat  had  collided  with  a  troopship  which  was  leaving 
Southampton.  Both  vessels  of  course  backed  apart;  there 
was  an  awful  splintering  of  wood,  and  fearful,  jarring  sounds, 
and  we  were  afforded  a  view  of  the  interiors  of  some  of  the 
cabins  of  the  unfortunate  vessel  we  had  run  into.  A  great 
spike  on  our  boat  brought  away  a  portmanteau  from  one  of 
the  cabins.  We  all  thought,  of  course,  that  the  end  of  the 
vessel  had  come,  and  indeed  for  a  few  minutes  it  was  feared 
that  the  troopship  would  go  down.  Fortunately,  however,  the 
watertight  and  other  compartments  saved  the  vessel,  and  she 
was  able  to  put  back  slowly  into  dock.  We  did  not  arrive 
at  Southampton  till  late  that  afternoon,  having  been  due 
in  the  morning.  Naturally,  all  waiting  friends  had  grown 
extremely  anxious,  and  we  were  glad  enough  to  put  foot 
on  the  shores  of  dear  old  England  again. 

A  friend  met  me  and  brought,  as  a  welcome,  a  big  bunch 
of  primroses.  The  sight  and  sweet,  tender  perfume  of  them 
touched  me  as  no  foreign  sight  had  done.  It  was  good  to  be 
home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LITTLE     SISTER     SORROW 

IN  connection  with  my  American  experiences,  I  might  here 
tell  a  little  story  of  two  citizens  of  the  great  Republic  I  met 
under  curious  circumstances  in  London. 

I  had  been  making  a  lecturing  tour  in  some  of  the  great 
Provincial  cities,  and  on  my  way  home  had  occasion  to  change 
my  train  and  take  the  underground  at  Cannon  Street.  While 
waiting,  I  noticed  an  old  lady  who  was  wandering  somewhat 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  platform.  She  was  small  and  a  littl 
bent,  and  wore  a  neat,  tiny  black  bonnet  and  a  very  trim 
black  dress  with  a  little  fur  cape.  I  began  speculating 
somewhat  vaguely  as  to  her  history  and  circumstances,  as 
one  does  when  waiting  idly  about  among  streams  of  humanity 
which  come  and  go.  Suddenly,  with  a  shrill  shriek,  a 
train  came  in,  and  the  old  lady  either  lost  her  balance  or 
was  startled  into  a  false  step,  and  almost  fell  over  the  platform. 
I  was  just  able  to  grab  her  cloak  and  pull  her  back ;  she 
tumbled  down,  and  in  doing  so,  hurt  her  ankle.  With  a 
little  difficulty  I  managed  to  help  her  up  and  support  her  to 
the  waiting-room,  where  she  sank  into  a  chair  as  if  very  faint 
and  tired 

After  a  little  time  I  asked  her  whether  she  would  like  me  to 
accompany  her  part  of  the  way  home.  She  told  me  she  was 
waiting  for  a  friend,  but  that  she  must  have  missed  her  for 

she  had  been  due  two  hours  ago.     She  therefore  made  up 

133 


i«4  TTbe  Soul 

her  mind  to  return  home,  and  I  found  that  her  way  lay 
partly  with  mine  if  we  went  by  'bus.  Before  proceeding  on 
our  journey,  however,  we  went  to  one  of  the  little  tea  shops 
in  a  street  near  by  the  station,  and  as  we  had  some  refresh- 
ment the  dear  old  lady  told  me  something  of  her  life.  I 
happened  to  say  that  I  had  been  attending  a  Social  Service 
Convention  in  Birmingham.  She  put  out  her  hands  and  took 
both  of  mine,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  prayed  that  God 
would  bless  every  effort  made  to  check  drink  and  gambling — 
the  fearful  evils  which  had  wrecked  so  many  lives.  Something 
in  her  manner  struck  me  that  there  was  a  personal  reason  for 
her  earnestness,  and  she  so  attracted  me  that  I  travelled  with 
her  from  Cannon  Street  about  two  miles  north.  She  told  me 
that  her  gcodman  had  a  little  boot  store,  and  that  they 
prospered  fairly  well,  but  when  she  named  the  locality  I 
wondered  how  anyone  so  respectable,  with  such  sweet  and 
refined  speech,  had  come  out  of  a  place  of  such  evil  repute, 
for  I  knew  the  street  she  mentioned  to  be  one  of  the  worst 
in  London.  I  asked  her  if  there  was  any  particular  reason 
for  her  having  chosen  that  locality,  and  told  her  that  I  myself 
was  very  keenly  interested  in  the  lives  of  the  outcast  and 
poor.  She  said  very  little,  but  before  parting  she  asked  if 
I  would  come  some  day  to  see  her,  and  I  gladly  promised  to 
do  so.  She  wrote  her  address  in  my  pocket-book,  and  on 
looking  at  the  writing  I  knew  its  characteristics.  It  was  the 
polished,  rather  ornate  writing  of  an  old-fashioned  American 
lady,  the  fine  hair-strokes  with  the  full  pen  dashes  being 
always  recognisable  in  this  special  school  of  caligraphy.  I 
have  never  seen  writing  resembling  this  done  by  any  except 
the  older  generation  of  American  ladies. 

I  began  puzzling  in  my  mind  as  to  who  and  what  my 
charming  old  friend  could  be,  for  all  the  while  she  had  been 
speaking,  I  had  noticed  something  unusually  quaint  and 


Xittle  Slater  Sorrow  125 

unfamiliar  in  her  accent.  She  was  not  a  foreigner,  so  far  as 
I  could  tell  by  the  accent,  nor  an  American,  yet  she  certainly 
was  not  altogether  English,  but  how  to  place  the  accent 
exactly  I  could  not  tell.  It  was  several  months  after  this 
little  adventure  before  I  found  time  to  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  then  one  day  I  sent  a  post-card  to  the  address  she 
had  given  me,  and  there  came  back  a  neat  little  note  asking 
me  to  meet  the  writer  at  a  certain  free  library.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  spice  of  adventure  in  my  nature,  I  hardly  think  I 
should  have  ventured,  for  there  seemed  something  odd  in  the 
invitation,  but  of  course  I  knew  that  there  could  be  no  evil 
designs  on  me,  as  a  public  library  is  not  a  place  anyone 
would  choose  for  malpractices  of  any  kind.  I  presented 
myself  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  there  was  my  old  lady 
waiting.  After  a  cordial  hand-clasp  she  drew  me  out  into 
the  hall. 

"We  must  not  talk  in  the  reading-room,"  she  said,  "for 
fear  of  disturbing  the  people,  but  I  wanted  to  explain  to  you, 
my  dear,  that  had  I  not  been  attracted  by  your  interests  in 
our  brothers  and  sisters  who  suffer,  I  would  not  have  asked 
you  to  come  to-day.  I  do  not  think  it  right  to  take  you  to 
my  place  without  warning  you  that  it  is  not  a  choice  or 
savoury  locality." 

I  assured  the  old  lady  that  I  had  already  been  aware  of 
that  fact,  and  added  that  I  should  much  enjoy  seeing  her 
home. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  glad  to  take  you  there 
myself." 

It  was  an  autumn  evening,  and  a  cold  mist  was  gathering 
round  the  city.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  journey  there, 
through  dark  and  narrow  streets,  through  miles  of  hideous 
brick  buildings  of  the  same  form  and  description  which  go  to 
make  up  the  poorer  streets  of  London.  Part  of  the  way  we 


126  ube  Soul  /l&arftet 

went  by  omnibus,  and  part  we  had  to  walk.  Presently  we 
turned  up  a  street  more  unsavoury  and  narrow  and  ugly- 
looking  than  the  rest,  and  after  walking  between  rows  of 
narrow,  grim-looking  houses,  we  at  last  turned  into  a  little 
courtyard  into  which  several  buildings  opened.  We  crossed 
this  and  ascended  some  rickety  stairs,  and  presently  my 
companion  opened  a  door  on  the  third  landing  and  we 
entered  a  cosy  little  room.  There  was  about  it  an  atmosphere 
of  home ;  the  walls  were  washed  with  a  pretty  blue  paint,  and 
were  decorated  with  pictures  in  neat  dark  frames,  which  made 
a  pretty  effect.  At  the  fire  was  sitting  an  old  man,  and  he 
rose  as  we  entered.  The  little  lady  said : 

"John,  this  is  the  young  lady  I  spoke  to  you  of,  who  saved 
me  from  falling  under  the  train." 

He  came  forward  and  grasped  my  hand  warmly. 

"  You  are  very  welcome,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  hope  Elizabeth 
told  you  where  you  would  find  yourself,  for  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  bring  strangers  down  here." 

I  assured  him  I  was  very  pleased  to  come,  and  was  in  no 
way  disturbed  by  the  strangeness  of  my  surroundings. 

Away  bustled  the  old  lady,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  had 
laid  a  white  cloth  on  the  table  and  prepared  a  charming  little 
tea.  We  all  sat  down,  and  for  an  hour  or  more  we  conversed 
on  various  subjects,  and  I  gathered  that  my  new  friends  had 
come  originally  from  America.  It  was  certainly  not  a  part  of 
the  world  where  I  had  expected  to  find  citizens  of  the  great 
Republic,  and  it  was  my  introduction  to  one  of  the  strangest 
experiences  that  have  befallen  me  in  my  life.  It  was  the 
beginning  of  many  visits  which  I  paid  to  that  locality.  For 
three  years  I  constantly  visited  these  people,  and  was  intro- 
duced by  them  to  some  of  the  strangest  specimens  of  humanity. 
The  little  home  exists  no  longer,  so  that  the  telling  of  this 
story  can  wound  no  tender  hearts  nor  violate  any  confidence. 


Xfttle  Sister  Sorrow  127 

Had  my  old  lady  been  alive  I  would  have  kept  silence  even 
now,  but  the  last  link  that  bound  me  to  her  in  friendship  was 
severed  when  I  stood  in  a  corner  of  one  of  those  enormous 
cemeteries  where  thousands  of  London's  people  go  to  rest, 
trying  to  coax  from  a  little  mould  of  earth  a  draggle-tailed, 
rough-looking  girl  who  had  fallen  across  it,  weeping  her  heart 
out.  In  answer  to  my  pleading  that  she  should  come  away, 
the  girl  said  indignantly : 

"  Don't  you  think  she's  worth  a  few  tears  ?  There  ain't 
anyone  likely  to  take  her  place." 

The  story  of  this  old  couple  makes  one  of  the  romances  of 
this  strange  city  of  London.  They  had  been  people  of  some 
consequence  and  a  good  deal  of  wealth  in  Boston,  and  they 
had  one  son,  who  was  to  them  as  the  apple  of  their  eye,  This 
lad  was  a  graduate  of  Yale,  he  had  been  in  Heidelberg  and  had 
spent  two  years  at  Oxford.  He  had  made  the  grand  tour,  and 
finally  returned  to  Boston  to  take  his  place  as  partner  in  his 
father's  business.  While  there  he  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter 
of  one  of  the  leading  citizens,  a  girl  who  eventually  would 
inherit  several  million  dollars.  The  young  man  had  no 
expectation  of  enormous  wealth,  although  he  would  be  com- 
fortably enough  provided  for.  But  the  girl's  parents  considered 
that  their  wealth  was  enough  to  purchase  a  title  for  their 
daughter,  and  they  looked  unfavourably  on  the  young  couple's 
fondness  for  each  other.  By-and-by  the  girl  went  to  Europe,  and 
one  day,  while  at  breakfast,  the  young  man  gave  an  exclama- 
tion of  pain,  and  the  mother,  looking  up,  saw  that  the  paper 
he  had  been  reading  had  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  he  had 
fallen  back  in  his  chair  almost  fainting.  The  paper  contained 
an  account  of  the  young  lady's  engagement  to  an  English  peer, 
and  described  her  fiancffs  ancestral  home  and  the  splendid 
prospects  that  awaited  her.  Her  jilted  lover  left  home,  and 
being  a  lad  of  a  weak  character,  he  allowed  despair  to  prey  on 


128  ube  Soul 

him,  and  took  to  drink  and  cards.  Nothing  that  the  love  of 
his  parents  could  devise  was  successful  in  inducing  him  to 
return  to  normal  ways,  and  at  last  when  the  crash  came,  it 
was  found  that  he  had  pledged  his  father's  credit  to  the  hilt, 
and  forged  the  name  of  a  prominent  man  in  Boston.  He  was 
tried  and  sent  to  prison.  The  long  years  of  discipline  seemed 
to  strengthen  his  character,  and  he  returned  to  his  faithful 
parents  assuring  them  of  his  determination  to  redeem  the  past. 

He  went,  followed  by  many  prayers,  to  one  of  the  Southern 
States,  and  lost  himself  in  one  of  those  great  cities  whose 
very  vastness  and  remoteness  has  enabled  many  a  man 
before  and  since  to  bury  his  past  and  begin  life  again  with 
new  hope.  The  young  man  prospered  wonderfully,  and 
became  a  prominent  citizen  in  the  place  he  had  chosen  for 
his  reincarnation.  All  went  well  till  the  devil  sent  there  one 
winter  a  party  of  Boston  society  people  on  a  pleasure  trip. 
At  a  ball  that  was  given  in  the  city  the  young  man  met  a  lady 
who  had  known  him  and  his  parents  in  Boston.  His  heart 
turned  to  ice  within  him.  She  appeared  friendly  enough,  and 
he  led  her  aside  and  made  an  appeal  to  her  chivalry,  begging 
that  she  would  forget  she  had  ever  met  him  before. 

One  might  have  supposed  that  a  Christian  gentlewoman  in 
the  nineteenth  century  would  have  possessed  decency  enough 
to  regard  such  a  request  as  sacred.  She  knew  the  history  of 
the  case,  she  plied  the  man  with  impertinent  questions,  and 
the  poor  wretch  supplied  her  with  all  the  information  she 
asked  for  with  a  sympathetic  air.  Two  days  after,  the  whole 
town  was  in  possession  of  the  man's  history,  and  every  door 
was  closed  to  him.  He  returned  to  his  parents  at  Boston.  I 
heard  the  story  from  his  mother  long  years  after,  in  that  little 
room  in  a  mean  street  in  London,  and  even  then  my  heart 
froze  as  I  seemed  to  see  the  awful  agony  those  three 
people  had  endured.  The  mother  and  the  father  striving  to 


Xittle  Sister  Sorrow  129 

find  some  me&ns  whereby  their  son  could  again  begin  life, 
and  his  utter  despair  and  determination  to  end  it  all.  This 
is  by  no  means  a  singular  tragedy,  resulting  from  that  hateful 
love  of  scandal  and  gossip,  which,  alas  !  even  gentlewomen 
cannot  forbear  to  indulge  in.  This  hateful  and  sordid 
passion  for  evil-speaking  has  ruined  many  a  life.  The  lad's 
parents  spent  awful  nights  of  waiting,  with  a  burning  horror 
at  heart,  listening  for  the  footsteps  mounting  the  stairs,  and 
wondering  at  what  dread  hour  the  report  of  a  pistol  and  the 
dull  thud  of  a  falling  body  might  tell  of  the  end  of  the 
tragedy.  The  young  fellow  waited  about  for  a  couple  of 
weeks.  His  mother,  facing  the  inevitable,  had  pleaded  by  all 
the  love  she  bore  him,  that  if  he  must  make  an  end,  it  should 
be  where  they  might  care  for  him  after.  When  it  came  she 
was  prepared,  and  after  all  was  over  they  sold  their  small 
possessions  and  left  their  native  country  for  ever,  to  settle  in 
London,  where  they  sought,  if  possible,  to  drown  their  grief 
amid  new  surroundings  and  other  scenes. 

For  the  love  they  bore  this  unfortunate  son  of  theirs,  the 
old  lady  and  her  husband  determined  that  they  would  spend 
their  lives  for  other  lads  who  had  been  tempted,  and  had 
fallen  as  he  had  done.  By  degrees  they  came  to  know 
London  exceedingly  well,  and  step  by  step  they  found  them- 
selves in  possession  of  the  confidence  of  some  of  the  most 
dreadful  characters  about  their  neighbourhood.  The  better 
to  serve  these  people,  they  took  a  small  shop  in  the  very 
midst  of  this  slum,  and  there  the  old  man  plied  his  trade  as  a 
shoemaker,  while  his  wife  helped  him  by  keeping  the  house. 
Their  home  was  the  rendezvous  of  the  outcast  and  criminal  in 
the  district.  Below  their  living-rooms,  opening  on  to  the 
courtyard,  was  the  tiny  shop,  and  behind  that  again  was  a 
large  room  with  a  sunken  floor,  which  had  doubtless  at  some 
time  been  used  as  a  sort  of  store-place  or  small  warehouse. 

i 


130  ftbe  Soul  fl&arfeet 

Here  were  arranged  some  rough  benches  and  tables,  and 
nightly  there  was  gathered  into  this  room  a  strange  medley  of 
humanity.  The  old  lady  provided  a  cup  of  tea  and  slice  of 
cake  for  each  person,  and  the  old  man  talked  to  the  strange 
guests  or  read  them  interesting  topical  articles  from  the  papers 
that  might  command  their  interest. 

It  was  the  most  extraordinary  gathering.  There  were 
thieves  and  pick-pockets,  girls  and  women  aisociated  with 
them,  violent  anarchists,  and  all  those  wild  and  desperate 
characters  who  hide  themselves  like  beasts  by  day,  and 
emerge  in  the  darkness  from  their  lairs. 

It  was  a  usual  custom  when  the  old  lady  and  her  husband 
had  need  to  walk  about  in  the  neighbourhood  at  night,  that 
some  one  or  two  of  the  strange  company  formed  a  bodyguard 
for  them. 

Here  I  heard  discussed  plans  for  the  annihilation  of  the 
rich,  murderous  diatribes,  and  gloomy  remarks  made  by  men 
whom  crime  and  want  had  driven  to  desperation.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  we  trod  on  a  volcano  when  we  placed  ourselves 
within  the  power  of  these  dreadful  people ;  but  never  once, 
by  manner  or  speech,  did  anyone  of  them  betray  anything 
but  respect  and  affection  for  the  two  old  people  who  had  come 
to  dwell  among  them.  I  asked  my  two  friends  how  it  was 
that  they  could  keep  silence  amid  the  fearful  vapourings  of 
these  dreadful  men,  and  look  kindly  upon  women  degraded 
out  of  all  semblance  of  humanity.  They  explained  to  me 
that  the  little  back  room  in  the  stuffy  courtyard  was,  in  their 
opinion,  a  sort  of  safety  -  valve,  and  that  where  men  and 
women  were  able  to  talk  and  relieve  themselves  of  their 
grievances,  and  find  sympathy  and  kindness,  there  was  less 
likelihood  of  a  violent  explosion.  There  was  one  girl  who 
came  with  unfailing  regularity  to  these  meetings.  She  was 
called  "Saucy  Poll,"  and  the  old  lady  gave  me  an  outline  of 


Xfttle  Sister  Sorrow  131 

her  history.  She  was  "in  with  "  some  of  the  worst  characters 
among  the  thieves,  and  rather  gloried  in  being  unafraid  of  the 
police.  One  peculiar  characteristic  this  girl  had  astonished 
us.  Outcast  herself,  and  owing  nothing  to  society,  she  yet 
had  a  most  romantic  attachment  to  the  Queen  and  the 
"  Prince  of  Wiles,"  as  she  called  him ;  the  reason  of  this 
loyalty  I  was  never  able  to  fathom.  She  was,  however,  on 
one  occasion,  through  the  influence  of  the  old  lady,  instru- 
mental in  saving  the  life  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  or  at  any  rate 
in  frustrating  an  attempt  on  his  life.  The  Prince  of  Wales, 
now  our  King,  was  going  to  dine  one  night  at  a  mansion  in 
Park  Lane.  Great  preparations  had  been  made  for  this  dinner, 
and  a  secret  plot  had  been  formed  by  some  red-handed 
anarchists  to  destroy  him  with  a  bomb  as  he  entered,  or  as  he 
left  the  house.  The  attempts  on  Royalty  are  so  infrequent  in 
this  country,  and  our  own  sovereigns  go  about  with  such 
freedom  among  their  people,  that  a  diabolical  plan  of  this  sort 
would  be  far  more  likely  of  success  than  one  conceived 
against  a  foreign  potentate.  By  some  means,  Saucy  Poll  had 
acquainted  herself  with  the  whole  plan,  though  the  con- 
spirators used  the  utmost  secrecy,  and  naturally  such  a  hideous 
scheme  was  not  even  hinted  at  in  the  little  meeting-room. 
One  morning  about  three  o'clock,  before  the  dawn  broke  the 
darkness,  Saucy  Poll  came  to  the  old  lady  in  an  almost 
hysterical  condition.  The  girl  was  so  agitated  and  so  terrified 
that  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  could  be  got  to  speak  of 
the  matter  that  troubled  her.  Eventually,  however,  she  told 
the  old  lady  of  the  plan  that  had  been  formed  to  throw  a  bomb 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  then  came  that  trial  of  nerves  and 
patience  which  those  endure  who  deal  with  characters  at 
enmity  with  all  mankind. 

There  was  not  enough  definite  evidence  of  the  plot  to 
communicate  to  the  police,  and  indeed  Saucy  Poll  had  only 


is*  Ube  Soul  /i&arfcet 

made  the  confession  on  the  absolute  understanding  that  her 
confidence  was  not  to  be  violated,  as  it  meant  destruction  for 
her.  All  through  the  cold,  silent  hours  till  daybreak  those 
two  dear  old  people  sat  up,  praying  and  thinking  over  the 
matter,  and  at  length  they  resolved  on  a  wonderful 
expedient. 

The  next  evening,  which  was  the  evening  before  that  on 
which  the  ruffians  had  planned  the  murder,  they  announced 
that  it  was  the  old  man's  birthday,  and  they  arranged  a 
particular  feast  in  the  little  meeting-room.  They  wrote  out  a 
letter  purporting  to  come  from  some  friend  in  a  remote 
locality,  who  gave  a  description  of  an  attempt  that  had  been 
made  on  the  life  of  the  Queen,  and  they  relied  on  the  sentiment 
and  romance  which  they  might  be  able  to  awaken,  to  rouse 
the  men  and  women  to  such  a  pitch  of  indignation  and 
horror  that  the  mad-brained  conspirators  would  be  driven  to 
abandon  their  awful  project.  They  spared  nothing  to  make 
the  feast  acceptable  to  the  guests.  Warmth,  and  plenty  of 
food  were  provided.  The  old  gentleman's  health  had  been 
drunk,  and  then  out  came  the  letter.  My  old  lady  told  me 
that  she  sat  there  outwardly  smiling,  while  every  nerve  in  her 
body  was  strung  to  breaking-point,  and  her  heart  beat  so  hard 
that  she  was  sure  everyone  in  the  room  must  hear  its  thumps. 
While  her  eyes  sought  the  faces  of  the  company,  and  her  ears 
drank  in  the  words  which  her  husband  was  reading,  her 
silent  lips  were  praying  that  God  might  speed  their  purpose 
and  give  success  to  their  plans.  As  the  old  gentleman  read 
the  story  of  contemplated  crime,  painting  with  dramatic 
emphasis  the  whole  hideous  outline,  the  feeling  among  the 
guests  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  Hisses  and  curses  burst 
from  them,  and  at  last  when  he  reached  the  point  where  the 
two  men  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  ready  to  cast  the 
destroying  instrument,  the  company  leaped  to  their  feet  with 


xtttie  sister  sorrow  133 

torrents  of  abuse  and  rage.  The  plan  had  been  successful. 
Both  conspirators  were  present;  one  with  white  face  and 
cursing  lips,  but  none  of  the  company  save  Poll  and  the  two 
old  people  had  the  remotest  idea  of  their  terror  and  confusion, 
To  cover  their  discomfiture  and  avoid  suspicion  they  also 
joined  in  the  hissing  and  cursing  of  the  supposed  anarchists. 

"  If  we  could  ketch  'em,"  said  one  of  the  men,  speaking  for 
the  rest,  "  we'd  roast  'em  by  degrees,  and  give  'em  time  to  see 
how  it  felt  to  be  burnt  up." 

All  sorts  of  horrible  tortures  were  devised  for  the  murderers. 
After  a  while  the  storm  grew  quieter,  and  the  old  gentleman 
was  able  to  read  them  a  little  homely  lesson  on  the  absolute 
futility  of  murdering  a  king  in  order  to  bring  about  reforms, 
Criminal  and  vile  as  these  people  were,  yet  something  in  their 
distorted  and  ugly  natures  had  responded  to  sympathy  and 
reason. 

Many  a  time  since  then  I  have  wondered  how  many 
devoted  lives,  such  as  these  I  have  told  of,  are  responsible 
for  the  peace  that  prevails  in  this  seething  and  awful  city. 
Sometimes  I  think  that  if  the  rich  and  noble  at  their  banquets 
and  feasts  could  only  be  translated  to  some  of  the  hideous 
slums  of  London,  a  terrible  fear  would  overtake  them,  for 
surely  the  thought  would  come  to  them  that  such  places  must 
be  the  breeding-places  of  anarchy  and  crime  and  bloodshed. 
Winter  after  winter,  when  the  thousands  of  unemployed  parade 
the  streets,  and  day  by  day  little  children  and  feeble  old 
people  die  of  hunger  and  cold  —  and  these  things  really 
happen :  it  is  not  fancy  talk — those  who  have  probed  beneath 
the  surface,  who  have  lived  and  starved  with  just  such 
creatures  as  these,  wonder  in  their  hearts  how  long  the 
endurance  will  last,  and  what  awful  outcome  will  some  day 
be  the  result  of  the  fearful  economic  condition  prevailing  in 
the  great  towns  of  Britain. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GILDING   THE   GUTTER — MY   EXPERIENCES   OF  COSTER   LIFE 

HAVING  become  acquainted  with  some  aspects  of  life  among 
the  poor,  I  resolved  on  making  a  trial  of  life  among  the 
costers. 

To  the  unitiated,  it  may  come  as  a  surprise  to  hear  that 
among  the  poor  and  labouring  classes  of  our  great  cities 
there  are  as  many  differences  in  mode  and  manners,  as  many 
nice  distinctions  of  class,  as  there  are  among  the  higher  grades 
of  society.  A  coster  girl  would  not  associate  on  equal  terms 
with  a  street  pedlar  any  more  than  the  squire's  wife  with  the 
village  postmistress.  Between  the  factory  girl  and  domestic 
servant  there  is  as  much  mutual  contempt  as  between  a  belle 
of  New  York  and  a  Chicago  heiress. 

It  took  weeks  of  working  and  planning  before  I  could 
translate  myself  into  a  bond-fide  coster  girl. 

Fortunately,  my  familiarity  with  the  many  Girls'  Clubs  in 
the  poor  districts  of  London  gave  me  an  insight  into  the 
minds  and  lives  of  the  coster  girls,  and  I  was  able  to  profess 
some  knowledge  of  the  life  before  I  entered  the  ranks  as  a 
worker. 

It  is  in  no  wise  easy  to  "  slip  "  into  a  new  life.  Among  the 
"  people,"  as  we  term  the  labouring  and  poor  classes,  an  out- 
sider is  very  quickly  recognised.  I  found,  however,  that  my 
foreign  appearance  really  helped  me,  for  as  I  dealt  mostly 
with  women  and  girls,  they  made  their  own  stories  about  me. 

'34 


tae  Gutter  135 

By  maintaining  a  discreet  silence,  I  managed  to  get  through. 
Being  small  and  young-looking  too,  helped  me.  I  get  tired 
very  quickly  and  show  it,  and  poor  Mr.  C,  who  was  nearly 
always  with  me,  got  the  rough  side  of  several  "  gentle  "  tongues 
for  ill-treating  me.  It  helped  me  wonderfully  to  have  a 
man  so  big  and  burly,  and  such  a  splendid  Cockney  actor,  to 
assume  command  of  me.  Together  we  were  able  to  do  what 
one  alone  could  never  have  accomplished. 

I  wished  to  get  right  in  among  the  costers  and  be  one  with 
them.  There  were  several  aspects  of  the  life  I  desired  to 
see,  and  we  set  out  to  learn  the  best  localities  for  our  pur- 
pose. I  dared  not  go  to  any  neighbourhood  where  I  was 
known.  The  members  of  the  Girls'  Club,  by  whom  I  was  called 
the  "  Little  Princess,"  would  have  thought  it  the  most  splendid 
joke  ever  conceived  to  see  me  impersonate  a  coster  girl,  and 
I  would  have  been  mobbed  by  a  good-humoured  but  em- 
barrassing crowd.  It  is  one  of  the  extraordinary  sights  of 
a  crowded  slum  to  see  a  great  rabble  collect  as  if  by 
magic.  I  did  not  care  to  risk  this  action,  so  Mr.  C.  enlisted 
the  aid  of  a  woman  in  Covent  Garden,  who  introduced  us 
to  a  likely  and  safe  spot  where  we  could  sell  things. 

It  was  a  wet  day  when  we  started,  and  the  potted  plants 
and  ferns  we  had  bought  were  dreadfully  damp  and  uncom- 
fortable to  hold.  Mr.  C.  went  off  to  lean  against  a  wall  and 
smoke,  and  I  stood  with  two  pots  in  my  hand.  It  was  so 
cold  and  miserable  that  I  almost  determined  to  give  up  for 
that  day,  when  I  heard  a  loud  but  cheery  voice  say : 

"  Now  then,  missus,  'igher  up ;  you're  right  on  my 
pitch." 

The  owner  of  the  voice  was  a  big,  strong,  red-faced  girl,  who 
was  pushing,  unassisted,  a  hand  -  barrow  heavily  laden  with 
potatoes  and  cabbages. 

I  moved  up  the  street  a  little  way,  and  the  girl  wiped  her 


is<5  Ube  Soul  fl&arftet 

face  on  her  coarse  white  apron  and  gave  me  a  good-humoured 
nod. 

"  Lor  lumme,  that  ain't  'arf  'eavy/'  she  said,  in  answer  to 
my  inquiry  as  to  whether  it  was  a  bad  load.  She  swiftly  set 
herself  to  dressing  her  stall  by  the  kerb,  and  when  finished 
she  turned  to  me  with  "  'Ow's  the  gime  —  'ad  any  luck, 
missus  ?  " 

"  None,"  I  answered. 

"  Ah !  wet  days  same  as  this  is  rough  luck  on  the  likes  of 
us.  I  wouldn't  'ave  come  out  at  all  to-day  only  my  old  man 
is  down  with  lumbager  or  something,  and  the  doctors  said  it 
might  settle  'im  to  come  out." 

I  drew  near  and  ventured  to  sympathise. 

"  It  won't  be  much  good  trying  to-day,  but  I  wants  to  get 
enough  for  the  roast  and  boiled  to-morrow.  I  do  think  one 
ought  to  keep  Sundays  somehow  Christian-like." 

She  was  very  friendly,  and  inquired  where  I  came  from. 

I  pointed  over  my  shoulder  to  Mr.  C.  and  said :  "  'E 
brought  me.  I'm  a  stranger  to  these  parts." 

"  Is  yer  foreign  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Not  by  half,"  I  said.  "One  can't  help  one's  birth,  but 
one  can  help  one's  heart." 

This  sentiment  pleased  her  extremely.  Presently  she  asked 
me  to  mind  her  stall  a  minute,  while  she  went  and  had  a 
drink. 

While  she  was  gone  I  sold  two  cabbages,  and  she  was  so 
gratified  at  my  smartness  when  she  returned,  that  I  ventured 
to  ask  her  to  let  me  help  her. 

"  Does  he  knock  yer  about  ? "  she  inquired,  referring  to 
Mr.  C. 

"  Not  much  ;  but  it  would  be  a  long  way  better  for  me  to  be 
earning  a  few  coppers." 

"  Well,  if  yer  ain't  particular  about  leaving  him  for  a  bit, 


tfoe  (Butter  137 

I'll  let  yer  'elp  me  while  my  old  man's  ill,  and  find  yer  a  bed 
with  the  girl,  a  cousin  of  Bill's,  who  lives  near  by." 

I  ran  across  and  told  Mr.  C.  the  joyful  news  of  my 
apprenticeship,  and  he  said  he  would  look  out  for  a  room 
in  the  same  street,  so  as  to  be  able  to  reach  me  at  any 
moment,  if  necessary. 

So  began  my  first  real  taste  of  life  as  a  coster  girl. 

Mrs.  Bolter  was  my  friend's  name,  but  she  was  known  as 
Bess.  She  took  me  home  with  her  that  night,  and  I  helped 
her  to  get  a  "  bite." 

f '  You're  a  'andy  sort  of  gal,"  she  said,  when  I  joined  her 
by  the  fire,  after  washing  up  the  plates  we  had  used  at  our 
meal. 

The  room  she  lived  in  was  of  a  fair  size,  and  had  a  big 
window,  which,  however,  was  shut.  They  lived,  cooked,  and 
ate  their  meals  and  slept  all  in  this  one  room ;  fortunately 
Bess  had  no  children.  The  husband  was,  I  could  see,  far 
gone  in  consumption.  I  nearly  gave  myself  away  by  advocat- 
ing more  air.  The  one  thing  the  poor  will  not  tolerate  in 
their  dwelling-rooms  is  fresh  air.  Poor  Bill  was  a  nice  sort  of 
fellow,  and  the  two  were  devoted  to  each  other. 

"  Your  bloke  ain't  much  class  ? "  he  asked  me  sym- 
pathetically. 

Bess  had  evidently  told  him  of  Mr.  C.  I  nearly  laughed, 
but  managed  to  nod  my  head  disconsolately. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Bill;  "you'll  be  all  right  along  of 
Bess." 

About  eleven  that  night  Sal  came  in,  and  I  was  introduced 
to  the  girl  with  whom  I  was  to  make  my  home  for  some  time. 
Sal  was  a  merry  girl,  with  an  enormous  fringe  and  nice  eyes. 
She  had  a  huge  mouth,  and  laughed  most  of  the  time.  I 
began  nodding,  and  Bess  packed  us  off  with  an  injunction  to 
be  spry  in  the  morning. 


138  TtDe  Soul  /iDarfeet 

Sal  grabbed  my  arm  and  dragged  me  down  the  steep  stairs 
into  the  street.  I  saw  Mr.  C.  hanging  about,  and  felt  quite 
happy. 

Sal's  room  was  up  a  narrow  neighbouring  alley,  in  a  house 
let  out  to  thirty-seven  lodgers.  Entering,  the  air  felt  thick 
and  stuffy,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  Sal's  room  was  a  tiny  attic 
right  at  the  top.  She  paid  half-a-crown  a  week  for  it. 

The  bed  was  unmade,  the  window  shut,  of  course,  and 
ashes  filled  the  grate.  From  one  corner  Sal  pulled  out  an 
iron  chair-bed ;  it  did  not  look  inviting,  but  fortunately,  I 
found  it  clean,  so  I  forgave  the  hardness.  I  was  awake 
practically  all  that  night,  and  had  the  fire  lighted  before 
Sal  woke. 

I  took  care  to  shui  the  window,  which  I  had  opened  while 
she  slept.  At  four  o'clock  I  woke  my  companion.  She 
sprang  up  and  scrambled  into  her  clothes  without  troubling 
to  wash,  though  there  was  a  basin  and  a  jug  of  water  in  the 
little  stand  in  the  room.  We  breakfasted  by  the  firelight  on 
bread  and  coffee  without  milk.  I  always  kept  some  meat 
lozenges  and  Plasmon  biscuits  in  my  pocket,  and  so  managed 
to  escape  with  very  small  quantities  of  the  food  taken  by  the 
people  with  whom  I  lived. 

I  have  never  met  a  coster  girl  or  a  factory  girl  who 
could  cook  decently  :  their  life  does  not  foster  housewifely 
instincts. 

Sal  and  I  were  at  Covent  Garden  Market  by  five  in  the 
morning.  There  we  encountered  Bess.  We  bought  the 
necessary  stock  of  fresh  vegetables  to  add  to  those  we  already 
had — Bess  had  deposited  her  unsold  stock  under  her  bed  the 
night  before.  Bess  and  I  then  started  back  to  our  pitch. 
Sal,  who  was  a  flower-girl,  went  off  elsewhere  on  her  own  business. 
Bess  gave  me  a  shilling  a  day  for  helping  her.  For  this  sum 
I  helped  to  push  her  barrow  and  took  her  place  at  the  stall 


$ilMn0  tfoe  (Butter  139 

when  she  ran  in  to  look  after  Bill.  I  cooked  the  supper  and 
washed  the  plates,  and  seeing  how  ill  Bill  was,  I  tried  to  do  a 
little  amateur  nursing,  and  showed  Bess  how  to  make  one  or 
two  simple  things  for  him.  Once  having  made  a  halfpenny 
worth  of  sago  into  a  pudding,  with  a  tiny  stick  of  cinnamon  in 
it,  I  prepared  to  offer  it  to  Bill,  Bess  laughed  and  said:  "  Lor, 
what's  the  gal  after  ?  Why,  bless  me  'art,  Bill  won't  swallow 
that  mess."  But  Bill  did,  and  asked  for  more. 

It  was  a  hard  life  enough,  up  at  four  each  morning,  to  bed 
never  before  eleven,  the  long  walks  to  the  market,  and  the 
standing  by  that  blessed  barrow  in  rain  and  shine.  Sometimes 
we  took  as  much  as  eight  and  ten  shillings  in  a  day,  at  other 
times  not  more  than  four  or  five.  But  I  wished  now  to  find 
a  new  field  for  investigation,  so  one  day,  by  a  preconcerted 
plan,  Mr.  C.  arrived  and  made  a  sort  of  row  and  ordered  me 
to  come  off.  I  was  sorry  to  leave  Bess,  but  I  was  getting 
worn  out.  After  about  a  month,  Mr.  C.  and  I  went  to  look 
up  a  woman  we  had  made  friends  with  at  Covent  Garden. 
She  was  also  a  coster  woman,  but  lived  in  quite  another 
district.  She  was  out  when  we  went,  but  we  found  her  at  the 
nearest  "  pub,"  and  getting  into  friendly  conversation  there, 
Mr.  C.  told  her  "the  missus  'ad  a  aunt  who  was  kind  of 
heiress  in  her  way,  poor  dear,  but  had  gone  and  died  and 
left  her  niece  £$."  With  this  he  suggested  that  I  should  set 
up  costering  in  " '  slap-up  style,'  so  that  a  poor,  'ard-working 
man  could  get  a  bit  of  peace  and  rest."  The  woman  quite 
sympathised  with  this  laudable  desire,  and  gave  us  advice 
very  readily. 

It  was  arranged  that  I  should  meet  her  on  the  following 
Monday,  which  is  the  slackest  day  in  the  week  for  costers.  The 
woman  promised  to  take  me  to  a  place  where  I  could  hire  a 
barrow  of  my  own.  On  the  following  Monday  morning  she 
was  waiting  for  me  in  her  own  house  as  she  had  promised.  Her 


MO  U&e  Soul  fl&arfeet 

home  was  part  of  a  small  house  in  a  narrow  court  off  the 
Fulham  Road.  In  front  of  the  house,  as  in  front  of  most  of  the 
others,  were  baskets,  stalls,  boards,  and  barrows.  The  majority 
of  people  occupying  the  houses  were  of  the  costermonger 
class. 

"  This  is  the  gal  I  was  telling  yer  about,  'Enery." 

This  was  my  introduction  to  my  coster  friend's  husband. 
He,  a  thick-set,  short-haired  man,  was  sitting  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves smoking  by  the  fire. 

The  room  in  which  the  introduction  took  place  was  not 
much  larger  than  a  good-sized  cupboard.  It  contained  a  bed, 
a  deal  table,  a  sack  that  served  as  a  hearth-rug,  and  another 
as  a  door-mat.  Some  crockery  and  pots  and  pans  were  also 
visible,  but  what  was  most  in  evidence  in  the  room  was  the 
mingled  odour  of  smoke  and  vegetables.  In  one  corner  were 
piled  sacks  of  potatoes ;  in  another,  half-a-dozen  baskets  of 
green  stuff.  Under  the  table,  under  the  chairs,  even  under 
the  bed,  I  noticed  baskets  containing  fruit  and  vegetables. 
My  friend's  bed  and  living-room  was  also  her  store-room. 
This  unfortunately  is  the  case  with  most  of  the  lower  class  of 
costermongers.  Sometimes,  as  I  found  out  later,  the  stock 
was  even  kept  in  the  dirty,  ill-ventilated  stables,  in  company 
with  their  donkeys. 

"'Enery,  I'm  going  to  take  my  pal  over  to  Mrs.  Rummings 
to  get  her  a  room." 

"All  right,  Liz!  'Op  it,  and  look  slippy  about  getting 
back." 

She  turned  to  me  with  "  Come  on,  Emm  ! "  I  had  told  her 
my  Christian  name  was  Emma. 

The  house  we  went  to  was  situated  in  the  same  street  as 
the  one  in  which  our  new  friend  lived.  It  was  a  two-storied 
house  with  a  basement  below  the  pavement.  Many  of  its 
windows  were  broken,  as  also  were  the  railings  in  front  of  the 


tbe  Cutter  141 

house.  The  street  door  was  open,  and  sitting  on  the  doorstep 
were  three  or  four  poor  little  children  without  boots  or 
stockings,  and  bare-headed.  In  one  of  the  ground-floor 
windows  was  a  card  informing  passers-by  that  a  "  room  was 
to  let."  Pushing  past  the  children,  my  companion  gave  a 
resounding  knock  at  the  door.  This  summons  brought  a 
very  vicious-looking,  dirty,  untidy  woman  about  forty  years  of 
age  up  from  the  underground  regions. 

"  Well,  Liz,  what's  up  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  My  pal  here  wants  a  room  ;  you  got  one  to  let,  'aven't 
yer  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  come  up  and  look  at  it " — this  after  a  very  searching 
look  at  me. 

I  followed  her  through  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs,  past 
several  more  groups  of  little  children.  The  house  was 
swarming  with  them. 

The  woman  opened  the  door  of  a  tiny,  stuffy  back  room, 
containing  a  small  iron  bedstead,  on  which  was  a  dirty, 
unmade  bed,  a  small  washstand,  a  common  chest  of  drawers, 
and  a  chair.  Fastened  on  the  wall  were  two  gaudy  cards 
about  twelve  inches  square.  One  asked,  in  crudely-coloured 
letters,  the  pertinent  question  of  "  What  is  home  without  a 
mother?"  and  the  other  bore  the  legend  "Home,  sweet 
Home." 

"  I  ain't  'ad  time  to  tidy  up  this  morning,"  Mrs.  Rummings 
said.  "  I  put  up  my  brother  Ben  'ere  last  night." 

"  What !  is  'e  out  ?  "  asked  Liz. 

B  Yus  ;  come  out  a  day  afore  yesterday." 

"  Lor !  don't  time  fly.     I  thought  he  got  two  stretch." 

"  So  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Rummings ;  "  but  they  knocked  six 
months  orf  'cos  of  'is  good  behaviour." 

By  this  conversation  I  understood  that  the  bedroom  offered 
to  me  had  lately  been  occupied  by  a  recently  discharged 


142  TTbe  Soul  /Ifcarfeet 

criminal.     However,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  through 
with  the  adventure,  so  I  asked  what  rent  was  required. 

"  'Arf-a-crown  a  week,  and  down  on  the  knuckle." 

This  I  interpreted  to  be  a  request  for  payment  in  advance 
I  paid  at  once. 

"  When  do  you  want  to  come  in  ?  "  said  Mrs,  Rummings. 

"  To-morrow,  if  possible,"  I  said. 

I  also  asked  her  to  have  the  windows  opened,  to  scrub  the 
floor,  and  as  a  special  favour  not  to  allow  the  bed  to  be 
occupied  that  night. 

All  this  my  landlady,  as  I  must  now  call  Mrs.  Rummings, 
promised  to  do. 

And  now  followed  a  sad  experience.  After  I  had  paid  my 
half-crown,  Liz  said  : 

"Let's  all  go  and  have  a  gargle  on  the  strength  of  the 
deal,  eh?" 

"  Don't  mind  if  we  do,"  said  my  landlady. 

<c  Come  along,  Emm,"  Liz  called  to  me,  and  we  left  the 
house,  went  through  the  court  out  into  the  main  road,  and 
straight  into  the  common  bar  of  a  public-house.  It  was 
midday.  The  bar  was  full  of  women,  some  quite  young, 
others  grey-haired,  but  the  majority  middle-aged. 

All  were  drinking  and  loudly  talking.  The  two  or  three 
men  present  were  of  the  usual  public-house  loafer  type.  I 
found  afterwards  that  this  Monday  drinking  is  quite  a  custom 
with  women  of  the  lower  working  class.  In  some  parts  of 
London,  more  drunken  women  can  be  seen  on  a  Monday 
afternoon  than  at  any  other  time  during  the  week.  A  visit 
to  the  police  courts  on  a  Tuesday  morning  will  illustrate 
to  what  a  shocking  extent  this  Monday  tippling  has  developed. 

As  I  stood  in  this  particular  bar  and  overheard  the  con- 
versations of  the  poor,  wretched  women  gathered  there,  I  grew 
convinced  that  the  framers  of  our  laws  could  do  no  better 


Gifting  tbe  Gutter  143 

than  immediately  make  a  law  forbidding  all  women  to  be 
served  with  drink  in  public-houses. 

Leaving  the  bar,  Liz  suggested  that  we  should  go  to  a 
barrow-yard  in  the  neighbourhood  and  hire  a  barrow.  I  was 
taken  to  a  yard  where  there  were  a  number  of  barrows  of  all 
descriptions.  The  owner,  a  fat,  middle-aged  woman,  wearing 
a  coarse  apron  in  which  was  a  pocket  containing  money,  which 
she  clinked  with  her  hands  as  she  talked  to  me,  agreed  to  let 
me  have  a  barrow  for  a  shilling  a  week. 

This  woman  was  also  a  money-lender  to  costermongers, 
lending  them  money  to  buy  stock.  She  charged  them  as 
much  as  twopence  for  the  loan  of  every  shilling  borrowed,  the 
time  of  the  loan  lasting  generally  from  Friday  to  Monday. 
But  the  money  is  sometimes  repaid  in  a  few  hours. 

If  bad  luck  should  follow  the  transaction,  the  debt  is  an 
itrfol  and  growing  burden  to  the  borrower.  The  establishment 
of  State  banks,  which  would  lend  the  respectable  poor  money 
at  reasonable  interest  to  start  them  in  their  small  business, 
is  much  to  be  advocated.  The  system  has  been  tried  in 
Germany  with  good  results. 

The  next  day  I  moved  into  the  room  I  had  engaged,  with 
a  few  belongings,  and  Mr.  C.  got  a  lodging  a  few  doors 
further  down. 

That  night  I  slept  but  little :  the  streets  below  echoed  ana. 
re-echoed  with  passing  feet,  coarse  laughter,  and  drunken 
songs.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  dreadful  shrieks  arose 
from  the  next  house,  where  a  woman  was  being  beaten,  and 
although  she  screamed  "  Murder ! "  and  her  cries  filled  the 
neighbourhood,  no  one  seemed  to  interfere.  At  last  the 
place  grew  quiet,  and  I  fell  asleep,  seemingly  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  A  loud  knock  at  my  door  woke  me,  and  on  opening 
it  I  found  Liz  waiting  for  me  to  go  to  market  with  her.  We 
started  off  with  my  empty  barrow. 


144  tTbe  Soul  flDarftet 

This  was  the  hardest  work  I  think  I  have  ever  dene.  My 
arms  ached,  and  my  legs  almost  refused  to  move;  but  my 
sturdy  comrade  made  no  trouble  whatever  about  it. 

On  arriving  at  the  market  we  left  our  barrows  in  charge  of 
a  woman  to  whom  we  gave  twopence  each  for  minding  them. 
These  women  are  quite  necessary  to  prevent  petty  peculations 
that  would  occur  if  the  carts  and  barrows  were  not  watched. 
We  made  up  our  minds  to  buy  several  boxes  of  tomatoes.  By 
a  system  of  mental  arithmetic,  my  guide  computed  that  the 
tomatoes  which  these  boxes  contained,  and  for  which  we  paid 
two  shillings  per  box,  would,  if  retailed  at  twopence  per  pound, 
bring  us  in  a  profit  of  one  shilling  a  box.  We  bought  twenty 
boxes. 

We  also  bought  four  bushels  of  plums  at  four  shillings  a 
bushel.  These,  if  sold  at  twopence  a  pound,  would  bring  us 
in  a  gross  profit  of  four  shillings  per  bushel.  We  had  to  pay 
the  porter  who  carried  our  purchases  to  our  barrows  a  penny 
per  bushel,  and  sixpence  for  the  twenty  tomato-boxes.  I  was 
unfortunate  in  loading  my  barrow,  for  when  I  tried  to  move  it, 
I  found  the  weight  was  so  ill-planned  that  I  could  not  push  it. 
My  friend  showed  her  trained  skill  and  experience  at  this 
point.  She  swiftly  packed  her  own  barrow,  so  that  the  weight 
was  adjusted  to  a  nicety,  and  then  rearranged  my  load.  Not- 
withstanding this,  I  found  it  quite  impossible  to  push  the 
loaded  barrow  from  Covent  Garden  to  our  pitch,  and  was 
obliged  to  engage  a  man  to  help  me. 

On  arriving  at  our  chosen  street  I  found  the  "  pitches,"  or 
places  that  barrows  occupy,  are  in  many  cases  looked  upon 
as  freeholds.  Only  in  rare  instances  is  it  necessary  for  the 
costermonger  to  worry  about  his  regular  place  in  the  street 
where  he  always  sells.  A  stranger  arriving  earlier  and  taking 
up  what  the  regular  costermonger  considers  his  own  particular 
position  would  be  very  roughly  handled  indeed — that  is,  of 


Gifting  tbe  Gutter  MS 

course,  if  the  usurper  happened  to  be  a  weaker  man  or  had 
fewer  friends  than  the  rightful  owner.  The  police  often 
assist  the  regular  costermonger  to  hold  his  position  against 
interlopers. 

So  much  is  this  ownership  of  position  respected,  that  it 
is  no  unusual  thing  to  hear  of  quite  respectable  sums  of 
money  being  paid  for  the  goodwill  of  a  pitch.  I  was 
told  that  as  much  as  ;£8o  was  paid  for  a  particularly 
popular  haddock  stall  in  Battersea.  Of  course,  the  posi- 
tion in  the  market  quite  governs  the  value  of  the  stall, 
and  one  may  take  up  a  stand  in  the  quiet  parts  of  the 
street  unmolested. 

The  nominal  owners  of  the  best  places  in  such  busy 
markets  as  the  New  Cut  or  Lambeth  Walk  are  quite  well-to-do 
people.  I  have  known  as  much  as  ^15  to  be  taken  on  a 
Saturday  evening  at  one  of  these  stalls. 

There  is  also  another  type  of  costermonger  who  is  com- 
paratively wealthy.  He  is  the  man  who  owns  vans  and 
horses  and  numbers  of  barrows  in  several  market  streets. 
These  barrows  he  stocks  and  lets  out  on  commission  to  the 
poorer  class  of  costermongers. 

I  got  to  know  the  wife  of  one  of  these  men.  Her  baby 
was  ill,  and  she  came  in  to  see  if  Mrs.  Rummings  could  send 
her  a  girl  to  help  her  for  a  bit. 

I  offered  to  go,  as  I  thought  it  possible  I  might  help  the 
woman,  who  seemed  much  distressed  about  her  child.  I  was 
in  and  out  of  that  home  a  good  deal.  The  child  died,  and 
they  spent  £20  on  the  funeral.  I  never  saw  lovelier  flowers 
than  those  that  were  laid  on  that  tiny  coffin.  But  the  baby 
needn't  have  gone  to  Heaven  so  early,  if  its  mother  had  not 
fed  it  on  potted  salmon  and  salt  bacon,  and  given  it  sips  of 
gin  to  stop  the  pains.  The  bereaved  mother  paid  £,7  for  a 
black  dress—and  she  could  afford  the  luxury — her  husband 


146  TTbe  Soul  fl&arftet 

got  as  much  as  fifteen  shillings  a  day  for  the  rent  of  a  pitch 
in  a  very  paying  locality. 

The  man  had  no  more  legal  right  to  that  money  than  I 
have,  but  it  came  to  him  as  an  acknowledged  right. 

He  had  a  cart  and  horse,  and  hired  out  barrows  to 
costers.  Early  in  the  morning  his  cart,  laden  with  fruit  and 
vegetables,  was  driven  round  to  the  stalls  he  had  contracted 
for.  These  were  dressed  and  made  over  ready  to  the  hirer. 
At  night  the  stuff  was  all  removed  by  the  same  man,  so  the 
hirer  had  no  responsibility  for  loss,  except  by  bad  sales. 

Mr.  Miff,  this  wealthy  coster's  wife,  got  very  friendly  with 
me,  and  one  day  offered  me  the  loan  of  ^"5  to  set  up 
with  a  donkey  of  my  own,  and  then  huskily  added  that  it  was 
for  the  kid's  sake.  I  was  much  touched  by  this  kindness,  and 
have  only  to  add  my  adventures  with  the  donkey  to 
finish  my  autobiography  as  coster  girl. 

To  be  the  proud  possessor  of  a  donkey  seems  to  be  the 
object  in  life  of  every  costermongcr.  They  practically 
monopolise  the  ownership  of  these  patient,  hard-working  little 
beasts. 

As  a  rule,  a  coster's  donkey  is  his  friend,  and  it  is  only  very 
rarely  that  they  are  ill-treated. 

London  costermongers  have  formed  a  donkey  market  for 
themselves.  It  is  held  every  Friday  at  Islington,  "on  the 
stones,"  as  they  say. 

About  midday  the  market  presents  a  very  lively  appearance. 
To  the  novice  the  bustle  seems  all  confusion.  Burly,  shirt- 
sleeved  men  run  the  donkeys  up  and  down,  shouting,  bandying 
chaff,  and  descanting  on  the  merits  of  the  animals  they  wish 
to  sell.  Some  of  the  criticisms  made  by  the  experts  on  the 
animals  is  amusing. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  his  eye  ?  " 

"  Nothink." 


tfoe  (Butter  147 

"  No,  it  ain't  shut  up.     'E's  a-winking — that's  all." 

Or  it  may  be  the  donkey's  staying  power  is  impeached. 

"  Don't  look  strong,  don't  'e  ?  " 

"What  yer  want  for  thirty  bob,  a  push  hard  (Panhard) 
motor  car  ?  " 

Then,  again,  one  may  hear  negotiations  of  this  sort : 

"  Yus'm  j  he's  all  right.     I'l  give  yer  ten  nickers  for  him." 

"  No ;  fifteen  pun  ten  is  his  price." 

"  Ten  jimmy  o'goblins— I'll  give  not  a  deaner  more." 

The  buyer  holds  out  his  hand  with  ten  shining  sovereigns 
in  it.  This  is  no  unusual  price  for  a  sturdy  Spanish  donkey, 
known  as  "fancy,"  a  type  much  coveted  by  the  well-to-do 
costermongers. 

The  average  price  paid  for  a  "  moke  "  is  something  between 
£$  °r  £^  though  some  may  be  bought  as  low  as  a 
"  dollar  a  leg  " — that  is,  £i  a  piece. 

All  bargains  are  concluded  with  a  sort  of  hand-shake. 

"  You  shall  'ave  'im  for  two  pun  ten." 

"  Ere ;  smack  my  old  'and — £2  buys  'im." 

The  owner  holds  his  hand  out,  the  purchaser  smacks  it,  and 
the  bargain  is  complete. 

Mr.  C.  and  I  bought  a  donkey  for  £$.  We  had 
already  hired  a  coster  cart  and  some  scraps  of  harness  at  the 
yard  where  I  hired  my  barrow.  It  was  extremely  funny  to 
see  Mr.  C.  trying  to  lead  the  donkey  off  amid  a  good-natured 
fire  of  chaff  from  brother  costers. 

I  longed  to  ride  the  beast,  but  Mr.  C.  assured  me  that 
such  a  proceeding  would  give  the  show  away ;  so  we  toiled 
off  to  the  stable  we  had  hired  for  two  shillings  a  week. 

Our  neighbours  were  very  much  interested  in  our  purchase 
and  our  consequent  rise  in  the  world,  but  we  were  not 
allowed  undue  pride  in  our  bargain.  One  man  pointed  out 
that  the  moke  had  weak  legs,  another  that  his  mouth  was 


us  ttbe  Soul  /IDarftet 

not  symmetrical  enough,  and  a  girl  politely  told  me  that  his 
tail  was  a  lot  longer  than  my  tongue,  which  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  compliment. 

Mr.  C.  pointed  out  that  these  were  the  donkey's  misfortunes 
and  not  his  faults,  and  that  they  would  mellow  by  keeping. 

The  days  we  spent  with  our  moke  and  barrow  were  happy, 
though  the  life  was  fearfully  hard.  Our  stock-in-trade  cost 
us  £4.  i os.  We  had  cabbages,  tomatoes,  oranges,  and 
bananas,  and  on  that  sum  we  made  a  profit  of  £\  i8s. ; 
but  our  working  hours  were  practically  eighteen  hours  a 
day.  We  took  turns  at  the  barrow,  and  slipped  away  for 
a  good  bath  and  sleep  between  times. 

One  day,  when  standing  at  my  stall,  a  costermonger  came 
to  me  and  asked  me  to  take  a  ticket  for  a  u  lead "  that  was 
being  got  up  for  poor  old  "Boss  'Ooker."  I  showed  my 
ignorance  by  asking  some  amateur  questions  as  to  this 
extraordinary  invitation.  The  man  luckily  thought  I  was 
chaffing  him.  He  grinned  at  me  for  a  moment  and  held 
out  a  small,  black-edged  card,  saying : 

"  Cop,  old  missus ;  I  ain't  got  no  time  for  kidding."  He 
pressed  into  my  hand  this  curious  advertisement : 

"MANY  CAN  HELP  ONE,  WHERE  ONE  CANNOT  HELP  MANY 

"A  Harmonic  Meeting 

will  be  held  next  Monday  night  at  the  Goat  and  Boots  Hotel, 
by  the  kind  permission  of  the  landlord,  Mr.  James  Downey, 
Esq.,  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  our  old  friend  Alfred  Hooke, 
better  known  as  '  Old  'Ooker,'  having  met  with  the  misfortune 
of  losing  his  wife.  The  following  gentlemen  have  promised 
their  support,  and  the  chair  will  be  taken  during  the  evening, 
amongst  others,  by  Charles  Neat,  better  known  as  Nipper 
Neat,  Punch  Dowsett,  Flash  Harry,  and  also  good  old 
Jibber  will  act  as  vice.  Rally  round  one  who  has  always 


Gilding  tbe  Gutter  149 

been  the  first  to  drop   to   others.      Harmony  commences 
8.30  sharp.     Ladies  invited." 

This  was  an  occasion  not  to  be  missed,  and  Mr.  C.  and 
I  presented  ourselves  at  this  gathering,  which  is  usually 
called  "a  friendly  lead." 

These  benefits  are  arranged  to  alleviate  all  sorts  of  mis- 
fortunes. The  room  we  entered  was  a  long  one  in  which 
were  arranged  a  number  of  tables,  with  Windsor  chairs 
down  both  sides.  At  one  end  a  smaller  table  was  placed, 
and  near  the  door  was  a  small  stand  on  which  lay  two  plates, 
one  over  the  other,  also  a  wooden  hammer.  There  was  a 
hammer  of  the  same  kind  on  the  table  at  the  end  of  the 
room.  These  hammers  were  used  by  the  Chairmen  and 
Mr.  Vice,  to  call  the  friendly  leaders  to  order. 

The  business  part  of  the  meeting  consisted  in  each  guest 
delicately  placing  an  offering  of  silver  between  the  two 
plates.  Sometimes  as  much  as  £6  or  £S  is  collected  at 
these  meetings.  The  gaiety  consisted  of  singing  and 
drinking  beer. 

It  was  very  amusing  to  see  the  ceremony  with  which  the 
proceedings  were  conducted.  The  Chairman,  a  red-faced 
coster  of  about  fifty,  took  off  his  coat  at  the  beginning 
to  allow  himself  larger  room.  As  each  item  on  the 
programme  became  due,  he  rose  in  his  authority,  struck 
two  smart  taps  on  the  table  with  his  hammer,  and  turning 
towards  the  "Vice,"  a  melancholy,  cadaverous-looking  man, 
would  say  in  a  husky  voice :  "  I  believe  the  next  worthy 
call  lies  in  your  'ands,  brother  Vice." 

The  exact  direction  of  the  call  would  be  indicated  by 
"brother  Vice";  then  after  a  few  loud  knockings  of 
the  hammer  and  various  personal  compliments  and 
encouragements,  the  man  indicated  would  rise  and  sing. 


iso  TTbe  Soul  /IDarfeet 

We  left  the  entertainment  before  the  men  and  women  got 
drunk,  pleading  as  our  excuse  that  we  had  to  find  a  new 
room  a  long  way  off.  That  night  we  slipped  quietly  back 
into  civilisation. 

It  was  a  real  pang  parting  with  "the  moke";  he  was  such 
a  good-natured  beast.  We  sold  him  for  "  thirty  bob  "  to  the 
nicest  coster  we  knew.  The  money  was  never  paid,  for  we 
left  before  the  man  could  collect  the  money.  We  always 
hope  our  donkey  found  a  grateful  friend. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   STORY   OF  THE   SHOP 

FROM  this  open-air  trading  it  was  a  strangle  transition  into  the 
ranks  of  the  shop-girls. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  the  attraction  in  the  life  of  a 
tea-shop  waitress  or  shop-girl  can  be,  for  so  many  of  the 
girls  I  know  in  domestic  service  and  in  working-class  homes 
desire  to  become  waitresses  or  "young  ladies"  in  shops. 
Perhaps  the  life  is  supposed  to  be  more  dignified  than  a 
barmaid's  business,  and  more  exciting  than  domestic 
service. 

But  few  of  the  girls  seem  to  take  into  consideration  the 
long  hours,  the  shabby  pay,  and  the  many  disadvantages  of 
the  work.  Maybe  the  life  is  rather  brighter  than  ordinary 
service,  but  it  certainly  is  a  very  fatiguing  one.  There  are 
also  many  regulations  to  be  observed,  and  the  pay,  as  I  found, 
is  nowhere  extravagant.  About  ten  shillings  a  week  is  the 
average,  and  some  firms  oblige  the  girls  to  spend  part  of  this 
on  their  dinners,  which  have  to  be  purchased  from  the 
counters. 

The  work  generally  commences  about  eight  o'clock. 
Floors  have  to  be  scrubbed,  tables  and  crockery  cleaned, 
counters  daintily  arranged,  then  the  girls  are  allowed  a  few 
minutes  to  make  themselves  neat  and  tidy.  Until  7  p.m., 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  minutes  for  meals,  there  is  a 
constant  running  to  and  fro  attending  to  the  wants  of  the 


is*  tTbe  Soul  /IDarfcet 

customers.  The  duties  are  not  hard  to  learn,  but  some  girls 
prove  more  attractive  to  customers  than  others.  It  is  the  aim 
of  these  girls  to  entice  the  same  customers  to  their  tables  each 
day.  Some  of  them  have  quite  a  large  following,  which  by  no 
means  detracts  from  their  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  managers  of 
most  small  tea-shops.  It  is  amusing  to  observe  how  a  regular 
customer,  known  to  be  mean,  is  neglected;  but  one  who 
scatters  largesse  with  a  liberal  hand  is  almost  fought  for. 

In  many  of  the  establishments  "  no  gratuities  "  is  the  rule, 
but  the  rule  is  very  often  broken. 

The  girls  frequently  receive  presents  from  the  male 
customers  who  admire  them;  flowers,  theatre  and  concert 
tickets  are  given,  and  many  accept  these  favours.  But  as 
a  rule,  these  young  women  are  loyal  to  sweethearts  of  their 
own  class ;  and  it  would  make  many  a  junior  clerk  writhe  if 
he  could  hear  the  recipient  of  his  gifts  "  take  him  off" — that 
is,  describe  his  physical  peculiarities  or  affected  manner  of 
speech — to  her  sweetheart. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  harder-working  person  in  London  than 
a  coffee-shop  waitress.  I  spent  some  time  in  this  capacity. 
My  hours  were  fourteen  daily,  and  my  wages  eight  shillings  a 
week  and  my  food.  This  food  is  ample,  if  coarse,  and  the 
same  epithet  would  describe  my  employer.  He  was  the 
largest  man  I  think  I  have  ever  seen,  and  an  excellent 
advertisement  of  the  possibilities  of  his  eating-house. 

1  commenced  work  at  6.30  a.m.  After  clearing  the  shop,  I 
had  to  help  in  the  kitchen.  I  had  also  to  serve  the  occasional 
customers  who  came  in  before  eight  o'clock.  Within  five 
minutes  of  that  hour  the  shop  was  filled  with  customers,  all 
simultaneously  calling  out  their  needs,  and  exhibiting  the 
greatest  impatience  imaginable. 

"Now  then,  miss,  'arf  of  thick,  three  doorsteps,  and  a 
two-eyed  steak." 


MISS   MALVEKY   SERVING   IN   A   CHEAP   COFFEE   HOUSE. 


SERVING   CHILDREN   IN   A    "SWEET"   SHOP. 


Storg  of  tbe  Sbop  153 

"  Rasher  an'  two,  three,  and  a  pint." 

"  Large  tea,  two  slices,  and  a  neg,  my  dear." 

These,  and  dozens  of  other  equally  strange  and  unintellig- 
ible requests,  were  shouted  at  me.  I  repeated  these  orders  as 
far  as  my  memory  would  allow  me  through  a  small  window 
opening  into  the  kitchen.  There  they  were  thoroughly 
understood. 

I  quickly  learned  that  "  thick  "  meant  coffee,  "  doorsteps  * 
slices  of  bread,  K  two-eyed  steaks  "  the  pungent  but  much- 
favoured  bloater,  "  rasher  and  two  "  eggs  and  bacon. 

After  a  few  mornings  they  ceased  to  puzzle  me,  and  I  had 
learned  enough  of  this  strange  language  to  compile  a  slang 
dictionary. 

This  rush  of  business  in  the  morning  lasted  from  eight 
o'clock  until  half-past.  After  this  the  shop  would  be  empty, 
and  but  one  or  two  customers  remain.  We,  that  is  the  coffee- 
housekeeper,  his  wife,  and  myself,  had  breakfast,  whilst  a 
young  girl  who  helped  in  the  kitchen  attended  to  the  shop. 
After  the  meal,  which  was  taken  in  the  shop,  washing-up 
commenced.  This  finished,  more  shop-cleaning,  potato- 
peeling,  and  general  help  in  preparation  for  the  dinner 
occupied  me.  Then,  after  a  few  minutes  devoted  to  a  hasty 
toilet,  I  returned  to  the  shop  again.  More  or  less  white  table- 
cloths were  spread  for  the  midday  meal,  and  the  menu  for  the 
day  was  chalked  on  a  large  piece  of  slate  hung  at  the  door. 

Almost  before  the  clock  had  finished  striking  twelve,  the 
first  dinner  customers  rushed  in.  The  noise  and  bustle  of 
the  morning  was  repeated,  the  only  difference  being  in  the 
orders. 

After  dinner  followed  the  washing-up  of  platters  and 
kitchen  utensils.  Then  we  had  our  own  dinner,  served  in 
the  shop. 

During  the  afterooon  very  few    customers    entered.      2 


i54  TTbe  Soul  /IDaiftet 

expected  another  rush  in  the  afternoon  at  tea-time,  but  this 
did  not  occur ;  our  breakfast  and  dinner  customers  evidently 
went  home  to  tea.  At  seven  o'clock  the  shop  was  closed,  and 
on  Sundays  I  was  allowed  to  leave  at  two  o'clock. 

The  hot  air  of  the  gas-lit  shop,  the  constant  smell  of 
cooking,  and  the  strain  of  serving  impatient  customers, 
combined  with  the  lack  of  outdoor  exercise,  made  me  at 
last  quite  ill,  and  I  now  understand  the  reason  why  all 
advertisements  requiring  girls  for  coffee-shop  work  demand 
that  the  applicants  shall  be  strong  and  healthy. 

One  advantage  of  these  places  is,  however,  that  the 
customers  are,  according  to  their  standard,  very  respectful 
to  the  girls  waiting  on  them.  There  is  none  of  the  coarse 
talk  and  dangerous  familiarity  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
"  public-house."  From  the  amount  of  custom  that  comes 
to  these  places,  I  am  sure  they  would  vie  successfully  with 
the  public-houses,  if  run  upon  more  attractive  lines,  with  a 
public  hall  where  the  men  could  smoke  and  read. 

My  next  venture  at  leading  the  life  of  a  "  working  girl "  was 
to  become  a  "  shop-girl."  It  required  a  considerable  amount 
of  influence  on  the  part  of  my  friends  for  me  to  obtain 
permission  to  spend  a  short  time  in  the  establishment  of  a 
general  draper's,  who  gave  employment  to  a  number  of 
assistants  of  both  sexes. 

One  August  morning  I  found  myself,  portmanteau  in  hand, 
following  a  rather  prim,  middle-aged  housekeeper  to  a  bed- 
room situated  over  the  shop  of  one  of  the  largest  drapers  in 
the  West  End  of  London. 

As  far  as  she  knew,  or  anybody  else  concerned  in  the 
business,  with  the  exception  of  one  of  the  partners,  I  was  a 
young  person  joining  the  firm  for  the  purpose  of  learning  the 
arts  and  mysteries  of  the  draper's  profession.  I  was  a 
draper's  assistant  "living  in." 


ZTbe  Storg  of  tbe  Sfoop  155 

When  the  housekeeper  left  me,  I  looked  round  the  place 
that  was  to  be,  for  some  time  at  least,  my  home.  It  was  a 
large  room  with  two  windows  looking  out  on  to  the  main 
road.  These  were  fitted  with  Venetian  blinds,  but  no  curtains. 
There  was  a  large  fireplace,  but  it  had  been  boarded  up. 
The  floor  was  bare,  with  the  exception  of  strips  of  carpet  about 
four  feet  long  by  eighteen  inches  wide,  which  were  laid  by  the 
sides  of  the  four  bedsteads  which  stood  in  the  room. 

The  walls  were  bare  of  all  ornament ;  but  hanging  near  the 
door  was  a  framed  set  of  rules.  These  I  read  with  interest : 
they  numbered  something  over  seventy,  and  the  breach  of  any 
of  the  items  seemed  to  be  punishable  with  fines,  which  ranged 
in  amount  from  one  penny  to  half-a-crown.  There  were  also 
regulations  as  to  dress,  and  as  to  general  conduct  for  every 
hour  of  the  day  and  night. 

Some  of  the  rules  are  undoubtedly  necessary,  both  for  the 
welfare  of  the  employe  and  the  employer.  But  many  of 
them  struck  me  as  frivolous,  and  merely  vexatious. 

"  House  door  closed  at  n  p.m.;  Saturdays  12." 

"  All  lights  out  on  closing  of  house  door ;  anyone  leaving  a 
light  after  that  time  in  bedrooms  will  be  discharged."  (This 
entails  going  to  bed  in  the  dark  after  a  visit  to  the  theatre.) 

"  Assistants  sleeping  out  without  permission,  for  the  first 
offence  to  be  fined  half-a-crown,  for  the  second  offence  to  be 
fined  five  shillings,  and  for  the  third  offence  to  be  discharged." 

"  All  bedrooms  to  be  cleared  at  8  a.m.,  a  fine  of  threepence 
for  every  five  minutes  late  at  breakfast." 

Any  assistant  eating  sweets  in  the  shop  was  punished,  and 
two  and  sixpence  was  the  fine  inflicted  on  the  unfortunate 
assistant  who  did  not  inform  the  shop-walker  that  a  customer 
was  leaving  without  making  a  purchase.  For  putting  flowers 
in  a  glass  in  a  bedroom,  or  for  fixing  photographs  or  pictures 
to  the  walls  of  the  same  room,  a  fine  of  sixpence. 


156  TTbe  Soul  flfearfeet 

As  I  stood  in  the  room  the  door  opened,  and  three  "  young 
ladies  "  burst  in.  Two  of  them  scarcely  noticed  me,  but  rushed 
at  once  to  their  looking-glasses  and  made  a  hasty  toilet.  The 
third  one,  a  pleasant-looking  girl,  came  to  me  and  said  : 

"  Have  you  just  joined  the  firm  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  I  am  in  charge  of  this  room,  and  I 
hope  we  shall  be  friends." 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall,"  I  said. 

"This  will  be  your  bed,"  she  continued,  pointing  out  a  single 
one. 

I  was  shown  also  the  particular  chest  of  drawers  and 
toilet-table  that  were  to  be  for  my  own  use. 

"Take  off  your  things,  my  dear,  and  come  down  to  dinner. 
Put  everything  away ;  leave  nothing  about,  or  you  will  lose 
them  or  be  fined." 

I  did  as  she  bade  me,  and  followed  her  down  the  stairs  and 
along  a  gloomy  passage  into  the  basement  of  the  building. 
We  were  joined  by  a  growing  crowd  of  other  young  people,  all 
hurrying  to  the  dining-room.  No  one  seemed  to  have  a  minute 
to  spare. 

This  want  of  proper  time  to  take  one's  meals  is  a  serious 
grievance.  Owing  to  the  distance  of  the  dining-room  from 
the  business  parts  of  the  firm,  in  some  cases  as  much  as  five 
minutes  was  occupied  out  of  the  five-and-twenty  that  were 
allowed  for  each  meal.  Then  there  was  more  waiting  at  the 
table,  therefore  the  food  had  to  be  "  bolted."  The  dining- 
room  was  a  long,  bare  room,  with  plain  white  walls,  .devoid  of 
all  decoration. 

The  cooking  was  shocking.  The  meat  was  almost  raw, 
the  potatoes  stodgy,  the  cabbage  watery,  and  pudding  cold. 
The  food  was  sufficient  in  quantity — that  is,  for  myself 
although  perhaps  for  a  growing,  healthy  country  boy  or  girl 


TTbe  Storg  of  tbe  Sbop  157 

there  would  not  be  enough,  for  I  have  heard  many  complaints 
of  the  insufficiency  of  food.  In  many  cases  it  is  eked  out  by 
purchases  from  the  house  stewards. 

At  one  end  of  the  dining-room  in  which  I  sat  was  a  table 
temptingly  laid  out  with;  fruit,  pastries,  etc. :  these  were  for 
sale,  the  steward  being  granted  the  privilege  of  selling  them. 
At  breakfast-time,  fried  bacon,  eggs,  sausages,  and  other 
relishes  were  displayed.  These  were  also  very  often  bought 
by  the  assistants.  The  firm  only  provided  plain  bread  and 
butter  for  this  meal,  as  also  for  tea  and  supper.  This  I 
consider  to  be  unfair.  There  should  be  sufficient  food  provided 
by  the  firm,  and  their  employe's  should  not  be  tempted  to 
spend  their  meagre  wages  on  food,  when  its  supply  is  part  of 
the  contract  made  with  their  employers. 

The  chief  grievance  of  the  shop  assistants  may  be  described 
as  a  standing  one.  The  Shop  Hours  Regulation  Act  sets  out 
that  no  young  person — that  is,  anyone  under  eighteen  years 
of  age — shall  be  employed  in  or  about  a  shop  for  more  than 
seventy-four  hours  in  any  one  week.  Most  firms  work  their 
young  people  up  to  this  limit.  Now,  this  means  very  many 
hours  spent  upon  the  feet,  sometimes  as  many  as  ten  in  one 
day.  "  Oh,"  someone  will  say,  "  there  is  in  existence  a  Shop 
Seats  Act,  a  law  that  orders  every  shop-keeper  to  place  for 
his  assistants  seats  in  accessible  places,  so  that  they  may  sit 
down  when  not  actually  engaged  in  business."  Yes ;  the  seats 
are  provided,  but  the  assistants  are  afraid  to  use  them. 
Something  like  this  happens  if  they  do : 

The  shop-walker  sees  a  girl  sitting  down.  He  approaches 
her  and  asks  :  "  Are  you  tired,  miss  ?  " 

If  he  sees  her  sitting  again,  he  will  ask  her  if  she  is 
indisposed.  The  third  time  he  catches  her  seated  during 
business  hours  he  will  tell  her  that  she  is  ill,  and  must  go  to 
her  room.  This  means  that  she  will  be  discharged. 


158  Ube  Soul  /IBarfcet 

Of  course  this  does  not  happen  in  all  firms,  but  this 
disapproval  of  the  girls  resting  during  business  hours  is  an 
unfortunate  fact. 

Most  firms  like  their  assistants  to  look  busy,  even  if  they 
are  not  serving  customers,  and  often  hours  are  spent  in 
uselessly  arranging  and  rearranging  the  stock.  One  has 
actually  to  suffer  the  hardships  of  counter-serving  to  be  able 
to  understand  thoroughly  the  courage  that  many  a  poor  shop- 
girl exhibits.  Suffering  pain,  and  weary  almost  to  the  point 
of  sinking,  she  will  smile  and  endeavour  to  humour  an 
exacting,  fault-finding  customer — invariably  one  of  our  own 
sex — who  seems  to  delight  in  giving  all  the  trouble  imaginable. 

Legislation  may  provide  seats,  reformers  may  cry  out 
against  the  abuses  of  the  "  living  in  "  system,  but  until  the 
public  grow  more  considerate  and  sympathetic — thus  bringing 
about  shorter  hours  of  work  for  the  poor  counter-slaves  of  our 
large  towns  —  very  little  will  be  done  to  ameliorate  the 
hardships  of  their  lives. 

There  exists  in  the  minds  of  most  people  a  prejudice  akin 
to  disrespect  for  the  barmaid.  Even  the  working  class  have 
ideas  on  this  subject.  If  a  young  working  man  "  picks  up  " — 
as  becoming  engaged  is  called — with  a  girl  from  behind  the 
bar,  many  of  his  family  consider  that  he  is  "  throwing  himself 
away."  Even  his  male  companions  outside  his  home  treat 
him  to  a  certain  amount  of  rude  chaff.  The  women  of  his 
family  imagine  a  barmaid  to  be  someone  who  is  in  some 
subtle  manner  a  fascinatingly  wicked  person. 

This  is  very  unfair  to  the  class.  Many  of  the  young  girls  who 
earn  their  living  in  this  arduous  calling  are  subjected  to  numer- 
ous temptations,  yet  remain  good,  upright,  and  respectable 
women.  Often  they  are  obliged  to  stand  behind  a  counter 
serving  semi-drunken,  coarse,  and  foul-mouthed  persons  of  both 
sexes ;  obliged  to  hear  bad  language,  and  the  vile  talk  of  that 


ITbe  Ston?  ot  tbe  Sbop  159 

class  of  man  who  makes  it  a  pastime  to  insult  young  women 
engaged  in  this  business. 

As  a  girl  once  said  to  me :  "  The  life  is  hard  enough 
without  having  to  be  insulted  by  cads." 

Indeed  it  is  a  hard  life  :  no  Roman  slave  lived  a  harder. 
From  early  morning  until  late  at  night  one  has  a  constant  round 
of  severe  work.  When  not  serving,  one  is  cleaning.  The  girl 
is  often  subjected  to  the  bad  temper  of  a  harassed  mistress,  or 
the  familiarities  of  a  drunken  master.  Scarcely  taking  any  out- 
door exercise— being  too  tired  to  go  out  during  the  two  or 
three  "rest-hours"  which  the  custom  of  the  trade  allows 
these  girls  in  the  afternoon — the  barmaid  soon  loses  all  her 
good  looks,  and  is  ruthlessly  discharged.  It  is  little  wonder 
that  many  of  these  girls  succumb  to  the  temptation  of  drink, 
which  is  always  at  their  elbow.  It  is  their  fond  belief  that  it 
will  revive  their  jaded  spirits  and  restore  their  lost  energy. 

The  atmosphere  of  a  public-house  must  weaken,  in  the 
course  of  time,  the  most  exemplary,  and  undermine  both 
health  and  moral  calibre.  It  is  an  unnatural  life  for  any 
young  girl  to  live.  Youth  is  destroyed.  And  to  be  pretty 
and  young  are  qualifications  demanded  of  a  barmaid.  It  has 
often  excited  my  compassion  to  see  the  early  age  at  which 
some  of  the  girls  I  know,  engaged  in  this  pernicious  business, 
are  discharged  as  worn-out.  I  have  often  wondered  what 
becomes  of  these  young  women  when  they  grow  old.  One 
never  sees  an  old  barmaid,  rarely  a  middle-aged  one. 

With  some  difficulty  I  obtained  a  situation  as  barmaid  in  a 
public-house. 

My  work  commenced  at  7.30  in  the  morning.  At  that 
hour  I  had  to  be  in  the  bar  to  clean  and  dust  and  generally 
make  tidy.  The  pewter  counter  and  the  brass  taps  were 
cleaned  by  the  "potman."  At  8.15  a.m.  I  went  to  breakfast, 
Much  better  breakfasts  were  provided  than  those  eiven  to  me 


160  TTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

at  the  draper's  where  I  had  worked.  Then  fifteen  minutes 
was  allowed  for  my  toilet,  and  at  9  a.m.  I  was  back  in  the  bar 
serving  customers,  who  were  chiefly  women  bringing  jugs  for 
lunch  or  dinner  beer.  At  twelve  working  men  come  in,  some 
bringing  their  dinners  wrapped  up  in  handkerchiefs  or  news- 
papers. Their  orders,  as  a  rule,  were  for  "'arfs  of  ale," 
"oblige  wif  a  knife,"  and  "a  little  bit  of  mustard."  Some 
would  buy  pennyworth's  of  bread  and  cheese  to  eat  with  their 
beer.  It  struck  me  that  if  the  proprietors  had  sold  cheap  and 
good  soup,  coffee,  cooked  meat,  and  potatoes,  we  should  have 
done  as  much  business  as  the  coffee-shop  where  I  had  served. 

I  am  told  that  many  publicans  are  catering  for  this  kind  of 
trade.  If  this  is  so,  I  am  sure  it  is  better  for  themselves  and 
for  their  customers.  The  house  I  was  in  was  called  a 
"  beerhouse  " ;  spirits  were  not  sold  there  at  all,  and  it  was  a 
far  better  class  of  place  than  the  ordinary  "  public." 

The  publican,  like  everyone  else,  begins  to  feel  the  stress  of 
competition,  and  many  of  them  are  extending  their  attractions. 
Some  display  on  their  counters  daintily-arranged  plates  of 
food,  and  everyone  must  notice  how  a  number  of  public-houses 
now  exhibit  on  their  windows  advertisements  of  food. 
"  Sausages  and  mashed,"  sandwiches  sometimes,  and  frequently 
"  tea  and  coffee." 

After  the  dinner-time  customers  had  returned  to  their 
work,  there  came  a  slack  time.  I  was  allowed  forty  minutes 
for  dinner.  After  this  I  went  into  the  bar  until  three  o'clock. 
There  was  a  seat  in  the  bar,  and  no  objection  was  made  if  I 
or  my  companions  sat  down  when  there  were  no  customers  to 
serve.  At  three  I  went  to  "rest."  I  invariably  spent  this 
time  walking  or  riding  on  a  tram.  At  six  tea  was  served,  and 
at  6.30  I  returned  to  the  bar.  Business  remained  quiet  until 
about  9  p.m.  Then  one  by  one  the  "  regulars  "  dropped  in. 
These  customers  generally  used  the  saloon  bar.  Customers 


Stors  of  tbe  Sbop  i6r 

here  had  to  pay  something  like  25  per  cent,  more  for  their 
purchases.  It  seemed  to  me  the  room  was  used  as  a  kind  of 
club,  and  I  wonder  why  temperance  reformers  do  not  open 
coffee-houses  on  the  same  principle.  My  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  working  people  leads  me  to  believe  that  if  bright,  well- 
furnished  coffee-houses  were  opened  side  by  side  with  every 
public-house  in  cities,  where  men  and  women  could  "  step  in  " 
for  refreshment  and  social  intercourse,  there  would  be  an 
incredible  reform  worked  among  the  drinking  classes.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  only  people  who  would  be  inclined  to  start  on 
such  a  crusade  would  be  the  ones  who  would  turn  the  bars 
into  pulpits. 

To  return  to  my  duties.  At  10  p.m.  I  went  in  to  supper. 
At  12.30  the  house  was  cleared,  and  after  a  few  minutes  spent 
in  washing  glasses,  I  was  able  to  go  to  bed. 

One  of  the  worst  sights  I  think  I  noticed  was  a  young 
woman  who  gave  a  little  baby,  only  a  few  months  old,  sips 
from  her  can;  When  I  remonstrated  with  her,  she  told  me 
"  to  mind  my  place,"  and  not  "  interfere  with  my  betters." 

Sometimes  working  men,  especially  on  Sunday  mornings, 
would  bring  their  little  children  into  the  bar,  evidently  after 
taking  them  for  a  walk.  They  often  offered  the  little  ones 
drink  from  their  glasses — this,  for  the  most  part,  was  want  of 
thought,  for  I  have  rarely  met  one  of  this  class  who  did  not 
condemn  excessive  drinking,  and  approve  of  their  children 
being  abstainers.  The  two  children  of  the  house  were  both 
Band  of  Hope  members,  and  spouted  temperance  recitations 
to  the  great  delight  of  their  parents  and  friends. 

Many  girls  like  the  barmaid's  life.  They  are  fond  of  the 
excitement,  and  the  opportunity  of  conversation  with  men, 
To  marry  a  gentleman  is  the  ambition  of  many  of  these 
"  young  ladies,"  an  ambition  which,  almost  without  exception, 
brings  trouble  in  its  train. 


1 62  ftbe  Soul  flfcatftet 

The  pay  of  a  barmaid  generally  ranges  from  five  to  fifteen 
shillings  a  week — not  much,  considering  the  long  hours ;  but 
matrimony  seems  to  be  the  stake  nearly  all  these  girls  play 
for,  and  a  very  dangerous  game  it  is. 

The  experiment  that  interested  me  as  much  as  any  l 
experienced  while  living  the  life  of  the  poor  and  working 
classes  was  the  one  that  gave  me  an  insight  into  a  trade  that 
is  really  a  benefaction  to  the  poor,  and  that  is  the  trade  in 
fried  fish. 

During  my  recent  travels  in  Poverty  Kingdom  my  attention 
was  very  often  drawn  towards  a  class  of  shop,  the  very 
existence  of  which  may  be  described  as  an  assault  on  one's 
olfactory  nerves,  and  seeing  how  these  places  were  patronised, 
I  determined  to  study  the  fried  fish  business  from  "inside" 
if  possible. 

I  have  many  times  stood  outside  these  places,  notwith- 
standing their  atmospheric  advertisement,  and  watched  the 
crowd  of  customers  streaming  into  them,  eager,  hungry-eyed 
work-folk,  anxiously  purchasing  their  frugal  dinners  and 
suppers. 

So  watching,  I  have  grown  convinced  that  these  humble 
and  often  malodorous  shops  play  a  very  important  part  in  the 
social  and  domestic  economy  of  London's  poor.  From  these 
shops  many  a  workman's  wife  is  able  to  provide  an  ample 
meal  for  six  or  even  eight  mouths  for  as  small  a  sum  as 
sixpence.  Another  advantage  to  the  poor  housekeeper  is  the 
facility  with  which  she  can  by  the  aid  of  these  shops  provide 
a  hot  meal  without  the  expense  or  trouble  of  cooking.  Fuel 
is  a  heavy  item  in  small  wages,  therefore  cheap  and  good 
cooked  food  is  certainly  an  advantage  to  the  people. 

We  owe  the  introduction  into  London  of  the  fried  fish 
business  to  the  children  of  the  Ghetto,  and  these  people  are 
even  now  pre-eminent  in  the  preparation  of  this  particular 


ITbc  Stors  of  tbe  Sbop  163 

food.  The  custom  of  selling  hot  fried  potatoes  we  got  from 
the  French,  and  until  quite  recently  almost  every  fried  fish 
shop  in  London  exhibited  in  its  windows  a  notice  that  potatoes 
were  cooked  within  &  la  mode.  I  felt  sure  I  should  be  able 
to  get  into  close  touch  with  many  poor  people  if  I  could  gel 
work  for  a  time  in  one  of  those  shops. 

So  I  managed  to  get  an  introduction  to  a  "lidy"  in  the 
trade.  She  was  a  big,  good-tempered,  good-natured  widow, 
with  a  very  flourishing  business. 

"  I  cuts  two  'trunks  '  a  day,  and  do  a  ton  of  taters  in  the 
week,"  she  told  me. 

Not  then  knowing  to  what  she  referred,  I  concealed  my 
ignorance  by  looking  as  wise  as  possible — smiling  and  nodding 
my  head.  I  had  to  use  all  my  persuasive  powers  to  obtain 
from  her  a  week's  employment  as  an  assistant. 

"You'll  find  it  'ard  work,  my  gal,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

I  told  her  I  was  not  afraid  of  hard  work. 

"  Well,  start  on  Monday,  and  I'll  give  yer  five  shillings  to 
commence  with.  You  can  'ave  yer  grub  along  o'  me,  but 
you'll  'ave  ter  sleep  out." 

I  thanked  Heaven  for  this  last  condition,  for  I  felt  it  would 
have  been  absolutely  impossible  for  me  to  pass  twenty-four 
consecutive  hours  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  shop. 

"You  'ad  better  be  'ere  about  'arf-past  four  Monday 
mornin' ! "  she  continued. 

"  Monday  morning  ?  "  I  hesitatingly  asked — surely  she 
must  mean  the  afternoon,  I  thought.  But  I  was  soon 
undeceived. 

"Yes,  mornin',  of  course;  we're  to  go  to  market,  you 
know." 

The  life  is  indeed  a  hard  one,  if  to  carry  it  on  it  is  necessary 
to  commence  work  at  4.30  a.m.  Nevertheless  I  meant  to 
"see  the  thing  through."  Therefore,  on  the  Monday  I 


1 64  Ube  Soul  flfoarfeet 

presented  myself  in  the  early  morning  at  the  shop  door  of 
my  future  employer. 

She  was  already  dressed  and  waiting  when  I  arrived.  She 
cheerily  bade  me  "  Good  morning,"  and  told  me  to  come  in 
and  "  'ave  a  cup  of  corfee  wif  a  drop  of  something  in  it  to 
keep  out  the  cold  while  we  was  waiting  for  the  cart." 

I  accepted  her  hospitality,  but  took  my  coffee  without  the 
"something  in  it,"  which  I  found  to  be  gin,  of  which  she 
took  quite  half  a  cupful. 

I  had  scarcely  finished  my  coffee  when  the  cart  arrived. 
The  driver  of  this  vehicle  proved  to  be  a  sleepy,  surly  youth, 
who  scarcely  spoke  a  word  the  whole  of  this  or  any  other 
morning  that  he  took  us  to  market. 

At  first  the  empty  streets  looked  desolate  and  forsaken,  but 
as  we  went  on  the  traffic  increased  so  much,  that  notwith- 
standing the  early  hour  of  the  morning,  there  was  quite  a 
stream  of  carts  and  vans  passing  from  the  south  to  the  north 
of  the  river  by  way  of  London  Bridge.  Turning  down  Fish 
Street  Hill,  our  horse's  head  was  seized  by  a  rough-looking 
man. 

"It's  all  right,  my  dear;  'e's  the  cart- minder,"  said  my 
employer.  This  man  looks  after  the  arrangement  of  carts 
and  vans,  and  he  drew  us  into  our  place  alongside  the  kerb. 

There  are  numbers  of  these  men,  and  sometimes  women, 
who  attend  regularly  every  day  and  take  up  positions  near  the 
market,  looking  after  probably  forty  or  fifty  vans  and  carts 
during  the  morning,  the  owners  of  these  vehicles  paying  them 
one  or  two  pence  for  their  trouble.  I  alighted  from  my  not 
too  comfortable  conveyance,  and  at  her  request,  followed  my 
employer,  Mrs.  M.,  as  best  I  could  along  the  crowded  pavement 
of  Thames  Street.  She  threaded  her  way  quite  unconcernedly, 
though  to  me  the  place  was  a  chaotic  pandemonium. 

Hundreds   of  rough,   coarse-looking    men,   wearing  dirty 


Storg  ot  tbe  Sbop  165 

white  smocks,  with  trousers  drawn  up  and  tied  in  a  peculiar 
fashion  under  their  knees,  passed  along,  carrying  on  their  heads 
enormous  curiously-shaped  and  padded  hats,  on  which  they 
balanced  huge  boxes  and  baskets  of  fish ;  rushing  and  pushing 
along  the  street,  getting  out  of  no  one's  way,  and  almost 
knocking  me  down  every  few  yards  I  walked.  These  men  pro- 
gressed, shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices  as  they  passed,  the 
names  of  the  people  to  whom  their  loads  were  to  be  delivered. 
These  were  the  market  porters,  and  what  with  the  owners  of 
the  hundreds  of  carts  and  barrows  that  were  standing  about, 
the  crowds  of  retail  fishmongers,  hawkers,  and  male  and  female 
loafers,  the  whole  place  teemed  with  movement  and  noisy 
life. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  imaginable  that  I  followed 
Mrs.  M.  Fortunately,  she  was  a  tall  woman,  and  wore  red 
flowers  in  her  bonnet ;  otherwise  I  am  afraid  I  should  have 
missed  her.  She  waited  for  me  in  front  of  the  market. 

"Keep  close  to  me,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  put  you  up  to 
the  buying." 

Billingsgate  presented  a  busy  scene  indeed !  On  every 
side  was  heaped,  in  seeming  confusion,  boxes  and  baskets, 
or  piles  of  glistening  fish ;  more  porters  carrying  their  loads, 
men  shouting  prices  of  fish,  others  selling  by  way  of  auction — 
the  whole  scene  presenting  a  wonderful  picture  of  work  and 
energy. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  fish  is  brought  to  Billings- 
gate. It  may  be  water-borne  or  land-borne.  If  conveyed 
by  water,  it  is  brought  by  steam  carriers,  who  collect  the 
fish  from  the  North  Sea  trawlers  and  deliver  it  at  the  market 
packed  in  ice,  in  large  boxes  called  "  trunks,"  weighing  about 
90  Ibs.  each.  These  are  sold  by  the  companies  who  own 
the  trawlers  and  carriers  by  auction.  Their  principal 
customers  are  the  class  known  as  "bummarees."  These 


166  zrbe  Soul  flDarfcet 

are  practically  middle-men,  and  form  the  majority  of  the 
two  hundred  or  so  tenants  who  rent  the  market-stalls. 

The  reason  for  the  bummaree  may  be  shortly  explained 
thus :  The  trunks  contain  unassorted  fish — the  retailer 
cannot  afford  to  buy  whole  trunks  at  one  time,  for  he  may 
only  require  plaice,  soles,  or  some  special  kinds  of  fish. 
The  auctioneers  and  commission  salesmen  having  no  time 
to  sort  the  fish  into  lots,  the  bummaree  buys  it,  separates 
it,  and  sells  to  the  retailer  exactly  what  he  wants. 

It  was  from  one  of  these  men  that  Mrs.  M.  bought  her 
fish.  She  paid  her  money,  pointed  out  her  purchases  to  a 
porter,  told  him  her  name  and  the  name  of  the  "  standing " 
— that  is,  the  place  where  her  cart  was. 

We  now  once  more  pushed  our  way  through  the  crowd 
and  found  the  cart.  The  fish  that  had  been  bought  was 
already  in  it,  so  we  paid  the  "minder,"  clambered  up  into 
the  vehicle,  the  horse  started,  and  within  half  an  hour  we 
were  back  at  the  shop.  After  a  substantial  breakfast,  taken 
with  Mrs.  M.  in  her  tiny  shop-parlour,  work  commenced. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  surly  driver,  the  fish  purchased  at 
the  market  was  sorted,  cleaned,  and  cut  up  into  small  pieces. 
Then  several  baskets  of  potatoes  were  scrubbed  and  washed. 
After  this  they  were  put  in  a  machine  which  cut  them  up 
into  small  slices.  Then  followed  a  general  clean  up  of  the 
premises.  This  completed,  fires  had  to  be  lit  in  the  furnaces, 
over  which  the  frying-pans  were  soon  to  be  set.  The  fish 
was  fried  in  a  specially  prepared  oil.  Each  piece  of  fish, 
before  frying,  was  dipped  in  batter. 

It  was  now  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  dinner  customers 
began  to  come  in.  Working  men  entered  and  asked  for 
"Two  and  one."  They  were  immediately  served  by  Mrs. 
M.  with  two  pennyworth  of  fish — that  is,  four  small  pieces — 


Ufoe  Stoi'£  of  tbe  Sbop  167 

and  one  pennyworth  of  fried  potatoes,  the  whole  making 
quite  a  good  meai. 

"Eat  'ere  or  take  away?"  she  invariably  asked  each 
customer. 

If  they  answered  '"Ere,"  the  fish  and  potatoes  were  put 
on  a  small  plate,  then  deluged  with  vinegar  from  a  bottle 
with  a  hole  in  the  cork.  The  customers  were  also 
supplied  with  a  knife  and  fork,  upon  the  handles  of  which 
were  graven  "Stolen  from  Mrs.  M."  If  the  customers 
answered  "Tike  away,"  the  food  was  simply  wrapped  in 
a  large  piece  of  newspaper  and  handed  over  to  them. 

Many  of  the  customers  were  little  children  who  came 
straight  from  school.  Their  purchases  generally  consisted 
of  a  halfpennyworth  of  fish  and  a  halfpennyworth  of 
potatoes.  Sometimes,  one  more  hungry-looking  and  more 
raggedly-dressed  than  the  others  would  come  in  and  ask 
for  "A  'aporth  of  cracklings."  Mrs.  M.  would  give  these 
poor  children  two  large  handfuls  of  tiny  pieces  of  fish, 
broken  potatoes,  and  the  chips  of  fried  batter  which 
remained  in  the  wire  baskets  after  the  cooked  fish  had 
been  removed  from  them. 

After  the  midday  customers  were  served,  the  shop  was 
closed  and  our  dinner  taken,  after  which  followed  more 
cleaning  and  preparation  for  the  supper  trade.  It  was 
always  close  upon  four  o'clock  when  everything  was  ready 
for  the  evening.  Now  came  a  much-desired  rest  until  seven, 
when  frying  commenced  again,  and  customers  began  to  drop 
in.  Between  the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  it  was  scarcely 
possible  to  fry  fish  fast  enough  for  the  buyers  who  crowded 
in  and  waited  at  the  counter.  After  that  time  trade  gradually 
fell  off,  until  at  twelve  o'clock  there  were  no  more  customers 
and  the  shop  doors  were  closed. 

How  human  beings  can  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  such 


i68  ftbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

a  life  is  beyond  my  understanding.  I  must  say  that  I  never 
had  a  harder  week  in  my  life.  I  shall  never  pass  a  fried  fish 
shop  again  without  some  feeling  of  sympathy  and  respect 
for  those  working  in  it,  for  they  indeed  are  living  the 
"  strenuous  life."  Moreover,  they  are  a  thoroughly  respectable 
and  thrifty  class  of  people. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN   THE   SWEATING   DENS   OF   WEST   AND   EAST   LONDON 

LIFE  as  a  shop-girl  seemed  hard  enough  to  me,  but  in  com- 
parison with  some  later  experience  in  sweating  dens  it  was 
luxurious. 

It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  sweating  is  an 
evil  confined  to  the  East  End.  Some  of  the  most  shameful 
sweating  shops  exist  in  the  West  End,  and  are  the  outcome, 
partly  at  any  rate,  of  the  wicked  habit  a  large  section  of 
women  have  of  not  paying  their  dressmaking  bills  for  months 
or  even  years.  I  have  a  friend,  a  girl,  who  is  an  officer's 
daughter,  and  was  trained  at  the  Slade  Art  School,  and  in 
some  Parisian  studios  for  her  work.  She  first  took  up 
dressmaking,  and  then  designing,  as  a  profession,  and  for 
this  purpose  apprenticed  herself  to  a  fashionable  dressmaker 
in  Bond  Street.  There  she  worked  for  three  years.  For 
the  first  year  she  was  paid  nothing,  the  second  year  she 
had  five  shillings  a  week,  and  the  third  year  eight  shillings 
a  week.  The  dressmaker  she  worked  for  was  a  good  woman, 
and  herself  an  exceedingly  hard  worker.  She  had,  in  the 
beginning  of  her  career,  a  fearful  struggle  to  make  ends 
meet. 

When,  after  her  apprenticeship,  my  friend  desired  to  open 
a  dressmaking  establishment  herself,  she  went  very  fully  into 
the  details  of  the  trade,  and  she  found  that  she  would  require 

capital  enough  to  keep  her  entirely  for  three  years  before  she 

169 


i?o  Hfte  Soul 

could  start  with  any  hope  of  ultimate  success.  The  necessity 
for  this  large  capital  being  that  society  ladies  seldom  pay  their 
dressmakers'  bills  before  two  or  three  years.  The  result  is 
that  women  who  have  not  capital  are  obliged  to  borrow 
money  at  large  interest  to  carry  on  their  business. 

My  knowledge  of  sweating  was  gained  by  experiences  I  had 
both  in  the  East  and  the  West  End.  How  I  came  to  enlist 
myself  among  the  sweated  workers  of  the  West  End  was  in 
this  wise :  A  student  friend  of  mine  had  a  cousin  who  was 
the  daughter  of  a  bank  clerk.  The  father  had  died  without 
making  provision  for  the  large  family  he  left,  and  the  girl, 
with  her  two  sisters,  found  themselves  obliged,  without  being 
educated  for  it,  to  take  up  work  which  would  help  them  to 
support  the  young  members  of  their  family.  This  girl  elected 
to  learn  millinery  and  dressmaking,  being  lured  by  various 
advertisements  and  florid  accounts  she  had  heard  of  ladies 
starting  in  business,  and  making  three  or  four  thousand 
pounds  a  year  without  any  capital.  The  girl  was  made  the 
dupe  of  a  person  who  was  puffed  in  a  ladies'  paper.  This 
journal  gave  an  account  of  a  millinery  school  in  the  West 
End  which  was  owned  by  a  society  lady,  who  was  supposed 
to  be  a  genius,  not  only  in  the  way  of  her  work,  but  as  a 
teacher.  The  girl  took  advantage  of  the  kind  offer  of  a 
relation  who  was  willing  to  give  her  ^50  for  educational 
purposes,  to  apprentice  herself  to  this  lady,  who  had  a  large 
and  seemingly  flourishing  business.  Poor  child  !  how  was 
she  to  know  that  the  account  in  the  ladies'  paper  was 
probably  paid  for,  and  was  a  thinly-veiled  advertisement? 
People  who  know  nothing  of  women's  journalism  cannot  be 
supposed  to  understand  the  little  intricacies  of  the  trade. 
How  was  she  to  know,  for  instance,  that  many  of  the 
fashionable  writers  on  dress,  beauty  culture,  and  such 
themes,  get  all  their  wardrobes,  toilet  requisites,  and  any 


Ube  Sweating  Dens  ot  aum&on        171 

other  articles  which  they  may  mention  in  the  society  chat, 
free?  How  was  she  to  know  that  the  journalist  who  wrote 
this  glowing  description  of  Mrs.  So-and-So's  millinery  shop 
was  probably  paid  a  large  sum  of  money  for  the  "puff"? 
The  result  to  the  girl  was,  of  course,  practical  ruin.  She 
paid  the  £$Q  for  a  three  months'  course  of  instruction,  on 
the  understanding  that  after  that  time  she  was  to  be  found 
paid  employment, 

Now  the  girl  had  a  real  gift  for  millinery;  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  trim  hats  and  make  bonnets  constantly  for  her 
friends  and  relations,  and  her  taste  was  acknowledged  to  be 
extremely  good.  She  found  herself,  however,  set  to  work 
with  twenty  other  girls,  all  of  whom  had  paid  £50  on  the 
strength  of  these  ornamental  advertisements  to  learn  a 
"paying"  trade.  All  of  these  twenty  apprentices  also  were 
given  definite  promises  of  work  on  showing  proficiency  at  the 
end  of  the  three  months.  They  made  and  trimmed  all  the 
hats,  bonnets,  and  old  ladies'  dress  caps,  which  were  sold  in 
the  shop  at  extravagant  prices.  There  were  cards  put  in  the 

show-room  stating  that  Mrs. employed  French  milliners 

for  her  work.  These  girls,  as  their  time  of  apprenticeship 
expired,  were  sent  adrift,  their  places  being  taken  by  others 
who  had  been  in  training  for  a  month  or  two.  In  this  way 
the  proprietress  ensured  a  constant  supply  of  capable  workers, 
and  at  the  same  time  replenished  her  coffers  with  additional 
fees  from  the  new  milliners.  Of  course  she  was  never 
able  to  find  appointments  for  any  of  the  girls;  in  fact,  one 
could  hardly  believe  that  -she  had  ever  intended  to  do  so. 
The  girl  I  knew  came  to  visit  a  cousin,  with  whom  I  was 
having  tea  one  day,  and  she  told  the  story  of  the  shameful 
treatment  she  had  received.  She  had  worked  in  this  shop 
every  day  without  a  break,  from  eight  in  the  morning  till 
eight  or  nine  in  the  evening,  without  one  penny  of  salary,  and 


i7*  tT&e  Soul 

at  the  end  of  her  time  she  lost  her  ^50  and  was  cast  adrift. 
I  thought  it  would  be  a  splendid  experiment  for  me  to  get 
into  this  sweating  den  and  gain  a  personal  knowledge  of  this 
fraudulent  method  of  obtaining  money  from  girls  who  were 
anxious  to  equip  themselves  for  a  trade.  I  was  not  in  a 
position,  however,  to  throw  away  ^50,  and  I  determined  that 
the  contract  I  signed  should  be  seen  and  revised  by  a  lawyer, 
a  friend  of  mine,  who  is  an  expert  in  such  matters.  I  duly 
presented  myself  at  this  "  millinery  school "  one  morning,  and 
was  received  in  the  most  courteous  manner  possible.  The 
lady  had  indeed  "kissed  the  blarney-stone"  and  her  words 
were  sweet  as  honey.  She  explained  to  me  how  lucrative  a 
calling  millinery  was,  how  easy  it  was  to  make  ^500  a  year 
in  the  trade,  and  she  added :  "You  see,  my  dear,  if  a  lady  of 
position  like  myself  can  afford  to  take  up  business  of  this  sort 
without  losing  caste,  and  make  a  real  success  of  it,  no  one 
need  be  ashamed  or  afraid  of  learning  the  work,"  and  she 
added:  "There  is  always  room  at  the  top;  good  milliners 
are  really  very  scarce  in  London." 

I  professed  myself  charmed  at  the  prospect,  and  was 
handed  a  contract  which  I  was  to  sign  there  and  then.  I, 
however,  explained  to  the  lady  that  I  must  take  it  home  and 
read  it  over.  After  a  great  deal  of  hesitation,  she  agreed 
that  I  should  do  this,  and  I  proceeded  straightway  to  my 
lawyer.  He  read  the  contract  over,  and  laughed,  saying : 

"  Well,  they  say  women  have  no  head  for  business ;  no 
man  could  have  made  a  sharper  or  harder  contract  than  this. 
However,  I'll  put  in  a  word  or  two  which,  without  seeming  to 
alter  the  meaning,  will  give  you  a  means  of  escape  should 
you  want  to  break  the  contract  and  get  your  money 
back." 

I  was  very  anxious  about  this  matter,  and  said  : 

"  You  will  make  it  quite  sure,  won't  you,  for  I  cannot  afford 


ZTfoe  Sweating  Dens  of  Xonfcon        173 

to  present  Mrs. with  ^50 ;  I  don't  get  my  money  quite 

so  easily  as  she  does  ? '' 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  my  friend,  "  I  will  make  that  all  right ; 
and  in  any  case,  she  will  not  dare  to  take  the  matter  into 
court  when  she  knows  that  you  have  had  advice  beforehand. 
The  trouble  with  these  matters  is,"  he  continued,  "the  fact 
that  girls  and  women  will  enter  into  any  agreement  and 
contract  in  the  most  careless  manner,  without  taking  legal 
advice  about  it ;  consequently  they  find  themselves,  in  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  victims  of  some  person  sharper 
than  themselves." 

The  alterations  having  been  made  in  the  contract,  I 
returned  next  day  to  the  shop.  I  said  that  I  was  willing 
now  to  sign  the  contract,  and  added  carelessly  that  I  had 
just  made  one  or  two  small  differences  in  it,  as,  owing  to 
circumstances,  I  might  find  myself  called  away  for  a  week  or 
so  before  the  legal  expiry  of  my  term. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady,  smiling,  "  that  will  not  make  any 
difference." 

She  read  over  the  revised  contract,  frowned  a  little,  but  did 
not  seem  afraid  to  trust  to  it.  She  made  me  sign  it,  and 
signed  it  herself,  and  then  gave  me  another  copy,  into  which 
I  inserted  the  changes  my  lawyer  had  made.  This  was  duly 
signed.  I  gave  her  a  cheque  for  ^50,  and  my  apprenticeship 
was  sealed.  This  was  on  a  Thursday,  and  I  was  to  begin 
work  on  the  following  Monday  morning.  Duly  at  eight 
o'clock  I  presented  myself.  There  was  a  charwoman  em- 
ployed to  sweep  the  shop  and  to  whiten  the  steps.  All  the 
rest  of  the  work  was  done  by  the  apprentices.  Some  of  the 
more  advanced  ones  "  dressed "  the  window,  while  others 
who,  like  myself,  were  fresh  hands,  dusted  the  boxes  of 
ribbons  and  flowers,  and  the  show-cases.  By  half-past  nine 
o'clock  the  shop  and  show-rooms  were  in  order,  and  we  were 


174  TTbe  Soul 

seated  in  a  little  back  room.  When  I  entered,  there  were 
seventeen  girls  employed,  each  of  whom  had  paid 
which  gave  the  owner  of  the  "  school "  a  capital  of 
She  had  on  an  average  between  twelve  and  fifteen  new 
apprentices  every  three  months,  so  that  her  capital  was 
always  increasing.  For  the  first  week  my  work  consisted 
in  opening  and  untwisting  rolls  of  wire,  putting  in  linings, 
tacking  ribbons  and  feathers  where  they  had  been  pinned  in 
by  the  more  experienced  hands,  fetching  and  carrying  boxes, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  day  packing  away  all  the  goods  and 
tidying  up  the  shop  and  workroom.  We  were  allowed  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  for  dinner  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  girls 
went  out  in  twos  and  threes,  there  being  someone  always  in 
the  workroom,  so  that  some  of  us  did  not  get  our  meal  till 
nearly  two  o'clock,  and  even  three.  Half  an  hour  was  allowed 
for  tea,  which  was  taken  in  the  same  way.  The  girls  began  to 
go  out  for  this  meal  at  four  o'clock,  and  went  by  relays  till 
about  half-past  six.  There  was  no  regularity  as  to  the  time 
for  meals. 

I  very  soon  was  made  aware  of  the  discontent  that  prevailed 
among  the  more  ambitious  of  the  girls,  who  had  been  there 
two  months,  or  even  more,  and  had  not  been  advanced  to  the 
better  and  more  finished  work.  I  studied  in  this  place  for 
three  weeks,  and  got  thoroughly  well  acquainted  with  the 
whole  routine  of  the  place.  The  profits  accruing  from  the 
work  were  exceedingly  good.  A  hat  costing  in  materials 
and  workmanship  six  shillings,  was  priced  in  the  shop  from  one 
guinea  to  thirty-five  shillings.  Streams  of  fashionable  ladies 
came  in  all  day.  For  one  week  I  was  employed  to  fetch  and 
carry  in  the  show-room.  What  a  revelation  of  human  vanity 
it  was  !  Old  women,  painted  and  powdered,  with  elaborately- 
dressed  hair,  would  come  in  and  try  on,  perhaps  twenty  or 
thirty  hats,  and  examine  themselves  critically  in  the  great 


Sweating  Dens  of  Xonfcon        175 

mirrors  that  lined  the  walls.  They  might  better  have  been 
thinking  of  the  next  world,  for  their  pilgrimage  in  this  was 
more  than  three-parts  done,  and  they  certainly  succeeded  in 
deceiving  no  one  but  themselves  as  to  their  age.  To  me,  with 
an  Eastern's  idea  of  the  dignity  of  years,  there  seemed  something 
horrible  in  these  masquerading  women,  whom  no  young  person 
could  honour  or  respect.  In  the  East,  grey  hairs  are  a  sign  of 
honour,  and  youth  is  obliged  to  pay  a  tribute  of  respect  to 
such  symbols  of  experience.  Among  the  Arabs,  no  unbearded 
youth  ever  speaks  in  the  presence  of  a  bearded  man  unless  he 
be  addressed  first,  and  young  people  will  always  stand  up  and 
remain  standing  in  the  presence  of  their  elders ;  but  in  the 
West  such  instances  of  respect  have  long  since  become 
unfashionable,  and  partly,  I  think,  age  has  itself  to  blame  for 
being  considered  a  dishonour.  The  way  these  old  women 
flouted  and  posed  would  have  been  amusing  had  it  not  been 
so  pathetic.  Even  after  trying  on  twenty  or  thirty  hats,  they 
would  go  away  without  purchasing  anything.  At  other  times, 
one  would  come  in  and  perhaps  order,  or  buy  immediately, 
three  or  four  hats  in  one  day.  There  seems  to  be  a  craze  for 
new  hats  in  this  country,  and  most  extraordinary  and  weird 
are  the  shapes  that  they  take.  The  weary  apprentices  worked 
hour  in  and  hour  out  without  rest  or  change.  After  three 
weeks  I  felt  I  had  had  enough,  and  as  I  had  learned  very 
little  more  of  the  trade  than  when  I  went  in,  I  considered 

myself  justified  in  leaving.     I  went  to  Mrs. and  exj  kined 

to  her,  that  according  to  her  advertisement  I  expected  to  be 
set  to  skilled  work,  or  rather  to  be  given  definite  instruction 
in  all  the  branches  of  millinery,  and  as  the  forewoman  had 
far  too  much  to  do  to  allow  of  her  teaching  any  of  the 
apprentices,  I  declared  that  I  wished  to  withdraw  from  the 
contract.  Of  course  she  was  extremely  angry,  and  absolutely 
refused  to  return  me  the  ^"50,  or  any  part  of  it.  I  bade  her 


176  Ube  Soul  fl&atfcet 

good  morning  and  departed.  I  went  straight  to  my  lawyer, 
explained  everything  to  him,  told  him  how  there  was  no  definite 

instruction  given  to  the  apprentices,  how  Mrs  had  nevei 

found  paid  work  for  any  of  her  workers,  and  gave  instances  of 
new  apprentices  taking  the  place  of  those  who  were  sent 
adrift  without  any  position  being  found  for  them.  My  lawyer 
sent  her  a  very  carefully  expressed  and  explicit  letter,  stating 
that  unless  my  ^50  was  forthcoming  the  matter  would  have 
to  be  decided  in  court.  After  a  great  deal  of  correspondence, 

Mrs. evidently  decided  that  the  game  was  not  worth  the 

candle.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  was  not  in  a  position 
to  face  judicial  inquiry  into  her  operations,  and  she  sent  me 
back  ^40,  deducting  ^10  for  loss  of  material  and  time.  So 
much  for  my  experience  in  a  West  End  millinery  establishment. 
Now  comes  a  picture  of  life  in  a  Piccadilly  workroom. 

On  this  occasion  I  managed  to  get  employment  as  a  sewing 
girl,  without  a  premium.  It  was  a  large  and  fashionable 
establishment,  with  a  ground-floor  show-room  and  upstairs 
and  basement  workrooms  — horrible  little  stuffy  places,  with 
inadequate  ventilation  and  bad  light.  There  were  thirty  girls 
employed  in  this  place.  I,  of  course,  at  first  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  show-room,  and  when  later  on  Madame,  the 
proprietress,  finding  me  willing  and  always  presentably  dressed, 
took  to  giving  me  jobs  to  do  in  the  show-room,  and  employing 
me  to  write  down  measurements,  hold  pins,  and  so  forth,  I 
found  opportunities  of  making  myself  acquainted  with  the 
details  of  the  business.  I  maintained  a  discreet  silence,  and 
never  spoke  unless  I  was  spoken  to,  I  never  was  reprimanded 
by  the  forewoman  for  being  idle  or  gossiping  in  the  workroom. 
Madame  evidently  noticed  this  trait,  and  became  careless  of 
what  was  said  and  done  in  my  presence,  and  in  this  way  I 
obtained  much  information  which  otherwise  I  would  probably 
not  have  been  able  to  do.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  the 


ZTbe  Sweating  2>en0  ot  Xottoon        177 

summer  season  when  I  took  up  work  in  this  shop.  Orders 
were  coming  in  fast.  All  day  long  ladies  came  to  choose 
their  gowns  and  to  be  fitted.  Many  of  them  were  content 
with  nothing  less  than  an  original  model,  something  that  had 
to  be  designed  and  made  especially  for  the  individual.  Of 
course  Madame  was  always  ready  to  do  this,  and  it  only 
meant  an  extra  charge  of  five  or  ten  guineas  for  the  costume. 
The  originality  generally  consisted  in  the  lady's  getting  what 
five  or  six  other  ladies  from  various  localities  had  been  given 
before,  with  perhaps  the  variation  of  a  few  tucks  or  frills,  or 
the  addition  of  a  yoke  or  couple  of  pleats.  Modern  fashion 
does  not  lend  itself  to  any  excess  of  originality.  I  remember 
being  one  day  with  a  man  friend  in  an  omnibus  going 
from  Victoria  to  Piccadilly.  It  was  the  season  when  green 
was  the  fashionable  colour,  and  ladies  went  about  adorned 
with  hats,  on  the  back  of  which  perched  a  composite  bird  of 
green.  Now  Nature  has  not  been  prodigal  in  the  matter  of 
green  birds,  and  the  number  of  these  creatures  known  to 
naturalists  would  probably  not  be  more  than  half  a  dozen,  and 
one  would  hardly  suppose  that  parrots  and  green  pigeons, 
which  are  the  commonest  birds  whose  plumage  is  of  this  hue, 
were  fitting  ornaments  for  ladies'  headgear.  However,  by  the 
time  we  had  travelled  from  Victoria  to  Piccadilly,  there  had 
been  thirteen  ladies  in  that  'bus,  every  single  one  of  whom 
wore  identically  the  same  sort  of  hat,  trimmed  in  exactly  the 
same  manner,  with  the  exception  that  the  green  bird  was  of  a 
different  variety,  and  the  ribbons  perhaps  were  a  trifle  varied. 
The  absolute  sameness  of  the  hats  was  so  remarkable  that  we 
both  noticed  it  and  laughed.  Indeed,  it  is  this  extreme 
difficulty  of  procuring  anything  really  suitable  except  at 
enormous  expense  and  a  vast  expenditure  of  time  and  trouble 
that  made  me  decide  on  wearing  Indian  costume  for  all  my 
public  work.  I  was  constantly  obliged  to  go  among  people 


178  Ube  Soul  /l&atfeet 

who  thought  nothing  of  spending  from  ^40  to  ^200 
on  a  single  costume,  and  it  was  necessary  for  my  profes- 
sional success  that  I  should  be  well  and  suitably  attired. 
I  had  so  much  work  to  do,  and  was  kept  so  busy  that  I  found, 
after  a  time,  it  was  absolutely  impossible  for  me  to  contend 
with  insolent  and  expensive  dressmakers.  I  could  hardly 
ever  get  a  dress  made  according  to  my  own  ideas,  and  the 
trouble  I  experienced  was  so  extreme  that  I  solved  the 
difficulty  for  ever  by  electing  to  wear  nothing  but  Indian  dress 
for  my  public  work.  In  this  way  I  saved  myself  many  hours 
of  vexatious  trying  on,  and  much  useless  expense.  For  the 
majority  of  ladies,  however,  life  would  lose  its  savour  if  they 
were  denied  the  pleasure  of  spending  hours  every  day  at  their 
dressmakers'  and  milliners' ;  time  seems  to  be  a  commodity  of 
so  little  value.  From  the  people  whose  chief  occupation  in 
life  is  to  dress  themselves  and  amuse  themselves  any  apprecia- 
tion of  the  value  of  time  is  not  to  be  expected.  There  is 
nothing  like  idleness  and  vanity  for  making  people  selfish  and 
cruel. 

Some  of  the  revelations  of  dishonour  and  meanness  which 
I  had  while  working  in  this  Piccadilly  shop  disillusioned  me 
of  any  ideas  I  possessed  of  the  responsibilities  entertained  by 
those  of  great  position  or  wealth.  There  used  to  come  to 
Madame's  a  certain  lady  who  is  extremely  well  known  in 
society  for  her  beauty  and  her  taste  in  dress.  She  is 
reputed  to  be  one  of  the  best-dressed  women  in  London, 
and  to  have  such  a  reputation  is  considered  better,  in  these 
days,  than  godliness  or  virtue.  She  had  been  a  customer  of 
Madame's  for  about  five  years,  during  which  time  she  had 
purchased  clothes  to  the  value  of  some  ^6,000.  Of  course 
she  dealt  extensively  with  other  West  End  houses  as  well, 
and  no  doubt  owed  them  all  money.  About  once  a  week 
she  used  to  come  in,  and  her  visits  were  generally  of  two  or 


ZTbe  Sweating  Dens  of  Zonfcon        179 

three  hours'  duration.  She  would  order  some  article  of 
apparel,  and  try  on  other  goods  which  had  been  previously 
commissioned,  and  then  would  ensue  the  usual  dispute 
between  her  and  Madame  about  the  payment  of  the  bills. 
The  dressmaker  would  say:  "Madame  is,  of  course,  aware 
that  this  will  bring  her  bill  up  to — say,  ^"550  for  this 
season's  goods;  and  of  course  Madame  understands  that, 
being  a  working  woman,  I  am  not  able  to  supply  Madame 
with  these  goods  until  some  portion  of  this  bill  is  paid." 

Then  Madame  would  reply :  "  Really,  Madame,  I  think 
you  are  a  most  ungrateful  woman:  I  have  introduced  to 
you  at  least  ten  good  customers  this  season." 

"  Ah,  but,"  the  milliner  would  reply,  "  Madame  will 
not  forget,  of  course,  that  she  has  had  a  commission 
of  20  per  cent,  on  each  order  given  by  customers  so 

introduced." 

"Well,  that  is  not  very  much."  said  the  lady.  "I  don't 
see  why  you  should  be  so  troublesome  about  your  miserable 
bills ;  you  know,  of  course,  I  will  pay  some  time." 

"Yes,  Madame;  but  my  work-people  have  to  be  paid 
every  week." 

"Well,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that;  if  you  are  going 
to  become  troublesome,  I  shall  simply  be  obliged  to  go  to 
someone  else." 

"Madame  knows,"  the  milliner  would  say  anxiously,  "I 
would  not  like  to  offend  her;  at  the  same  time,  it  is  posi- 
tively necessary  that  something  should  be  paid  on  the  bill. 
I  don't  ask  for  a  very  large  amount:  could  not  Madame 
pay  ^200  or  ^300  ?  " 

",£200  or  ^"300!"  shrieked  the  customer.  "My  dear 
good  woman,  I  have  not  two  or  three  hundred  pence  unless 
it  turns  up  from  somewhere."  And  so  these  disputes  would 
go  on  time  after  time,  and  instead  of  paying  the  bill  this 


soul  /l&arfeet 

honourable  lady  would  beg  Madame  to  lend  her  £$  01 
;£io  in  cash.  On  some  occasions  Madame  would  do  so. 
If  she  lent  her  ^5,  the  amount  would  go  down  in  the  bill 
as  "sundries,"  £15.  Again,  when  matters  grew  very 
strained,  this  lady  would  go  in  with  a  cheque  from  some 
man,  and  before  she  would  make  it  over  to  Madame,  she 
would  insist  on  having  some  part  of  it  in  cash  for  herself. 
Often  she  was  accompanied  to  the  show-room  by  some  vapid, 
idle-looking  man  about  town,  who  would  sit  and  wait  for 
her,  or  exchange  remarks  with  her  while  she  was  being 
fitted,  and  sometimes  she  would  issue  forth  in  one  of  her 
new  "  creations "  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  her  admirer.  This 
woman  has  a  husband  and  some  bonny-looking  children. 
What  becomes  of  these  when  she  is  engaged  in  the  arduous 
business  of  dressing  and  amusing  herself  I  am  not  able  to 
say.  Unfortunately,  this  is  no  uncommon  picture  of  a 
London  dressmaker's  establishment.  I  could  give  a  dozen 
instances,  but  this  is  enough  to  show  the  fearful 
responsibility  that  lies  on  society  of  creating  a  better 
public  opinion  in  all  matters  regarding  honour  and  justice. 
Day  after  day,  in  this  miserable  little  workroom,  half- 
starved  and  ailing  girls  were  kept  working  at  high  pressure 
on  wages  which  ranged  from  four  shillings  to  thirty  shillings 
a  week.  They  had  no  time  to  live,  but  existed  from  day  to 
day  as  the  slaves  of  society. 

On  one  occasion,  when  I  was  there,  a  fearful  confusion  and 
panic  took  place  about  ten  o'clock  one  night.  There  were 
thirty  of  us  working  as  fast  as  our  needles  would  fly  in  the 
workroom,  to  finish  some  dresses  which  had  been  ordered  for 
a  special  function.  A  message  came  up  from  Madame — the 
one  word  "  Inspector."  We  heard  voices  downstairs.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  before  the  unwelcome  visitor  had  time  to 
climb  the  stairs,  most  of  the  work  had  been  put  away,  and  all 


ICbe  Sweating  Dens  ot  Xonfcon        181 

the  girls  except  two,  who  were  resident  in  the  house,  were 
hidden  behind  wardrobes  and  curtains.  The  lady  inspector 
entered.  It  was  explained  to  her  that  the  women  she  saw 
were  engaged  in  tidying  and  putting  away  work  which  had 
been  completed  before  the  shop  closed.  Of  course  she  saw 
signs  of  hurried  confusion  that  her  arrival  had  caused,  but 
there  was  nothing  definite  she  could  lay  hold  of  to  make  a 
case  against  Madame.  Meanwhile  we,  from  our  hiding- 
places,  could  hardly  contain  ourselves,  tired  as  we  were, 
with  laughter  at  the  way  the  inspector  was  duped.  Madame 
was  with  her,  suave  and  gracious  as  you  like,  and  they 
descended  together.  When  the  front  door  was  shut  and 
all  was  safe,  we  emerged  from  our  hiding-places,  and  Madame 
came  up  so  good-humoured  and  smiling  that  the  poor,  tired 
creatures  she  was  sweating  in  defiance  of  the  law  were  almost 
persuaded  that  she  was  hardly  dealt  with.  She  was  so  elated 
at  the  narrow  escape  she  had  had,  and  the  good  work  that 
had  been  done,  that  to  encourage  us  to  stay  till  two  o'clock 
that  morning  she  had  two  great  pots  of  tea  brought  up,  and 
some  bread  and  butter  and  cake,  and  we  were  regaled  with 
the  feast  at  the  dead  hour  of  night.  Of  course  we  stayed  till 
the  work  was  finished,  which  meant  that  some  of  us  did  not 
reach  home  till  four  o'clock,  and  we  had  to  be  back  at  work 
again  at  eight. 

The  most  curious  of  the  chapters  in  the  history  of  sweating 
must  surely  be  those  which  tell  of  the  unwillingness  of  the 
workers  to  have  their  wrongs  adjusted ;  so  great  is  their  fear 
that  they  will  lose  their  employment  altogether  that  they  will 
connive  and  join  hands  with  their  employers  in  hoodwinking 
the  inspectors,  and  in  breaking  the  law  also. 


CHAPTER    XI 

WOMEN  WHO  WORK  AND  BABES  WHO  WEEP — WHAT 
"HOME  INDUSTRIES"  MEAN 

So  much  for  the  sweating  shops  in  the  West  End,  and  now  to 
travel  eastward,  where  our  poorer  sisters  pay  with  life  and 
sight  and  health — the  price  of  this  accursed  system. 

Since  the  days  when  Charles  Kingsley,  in  "  Alton  Locke," 
threw  a  lurid  light  on  the  dark  ways  of  "  sweating,"  it  would 
seem  that  very  little  headway  has  been  made  against  this 
nefarious  system,  which  still  continues  not  only  to  exist,  but 
to  thrive,  and  that  in  spite  of  many  enactments  and  Acts  of 
Parliament  dealing  with  the  matter. 

My  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  some  of  the  evils  of 
"  sweating  "  is  personal.  The  first  time  I  came  into  actual 
touch  with  some  of  these  slaves  in  England,  I  was  startled  at 
the  ease  with  which  it  is  possible  to  drive  the  proverbial 
"  coach-and-four  "  through  Acts  of  Parliament. 

One  day  as  I  was  returning  home  through  a  part  of  Brixton, 
I  noticed  in  the  window  of  one  of  the  houses  a  card  setting 
forth  the  fact  that  the  dressmaker  within  (a  German)  required 
apprentices.  As  I  passed,  several  girls  came  up  from  the 
area  door  and  walked  down  the  street  in  front  of  me.  I 
heard  some  of  their  remarks.  One  said :  "  She's  a  regular 
beast,  she  is !  The  way  she  treats  that  girl's  something 
shameful !  "  I  did  not  follow  the  conversation  further ;  but 
3d  I  was  waiting  at  the  station,  I  bought  a  local  paper,  and 


Momen  wbo  Morfc  ant>  Bafces  wbo  Meep   183 

glancing  through  the  advertisements,  I  was  struck  by  one 
which  gave  the  address  of  the  same  house  that  I  had  lately 
passed,  where  the  card  in  the  window  indicated  that  the  lady 
who  advertised  in  the  paper  was  one  and  the  same  person. 
The  advertisement  stated  that  an  apprentice  would  be  received 
by  a  dressmaker  and  taught  the  trade  for  a  small  premium. 
With  the  memory  of  the  scrap  of  conversation  overheard  in 
the  street  still  ringing  in  my  ears,  I  resolved  that  I  would 
make  an  opportunity  as  soon  as  possible  of  investigating  for 
myself  the  conditions  of  life  in  a  dressmaker's  shop. 

A  couple  of  weeks  later  I  made  my  way  to  the  same  house, 
carrying  the  advertisement  in  my  hand.  I  was  admitted  and 
interviewed  by  a  stout,  severe-looking  woman,  who  spoke  with 
a  strong  German  accent.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  done  any 
work  of  the  sort  before.  On  being  answered  in  the  negative, 
she  declared  that  "  apprentices  were  more  nuisance  than  they 
were  worth,"  but  added  that  if  I  could  pay  the  premium 
down,  she  might  take  me  in.  I  inquired  how  much  this 
premium  would  be,  and  was  informed  that  for  £10  I  would 
be  given  six  months'  training.  The  conditions  were,  that  I 
must  appear  at  eight  o'clock  every  morning,  and  work  nominally 
till  8  p.m.,  "but,"  said  the  lady  who  was  to  instruct  me,  "I 
don't  have  no  nonsense — work  is  work,  and  it's  got  to  be 
done."  It  did  not  require  much  intelligence  to  interpret  this. 
I  apprenticed  myself. 

The  house  where  I  worked  was  situated  in  one  of  those 
shabby-genteel  streets  that  abound  near  the  Brixton  Road,  a 
street  in  which  poverty  tries  to  hide  itself  behind  clean  but 
painfully  cheap  and  mended  lace  curtains. 

Before  entering  on  a  further  description,  it  will  be  well  to  state 
that  there  are  clauses  in  the  Factory  Act  which  limit  the  hours 
of  work  for  children  under  fourteen ;  there  are  other  sections 
of  the  same  Act  that  protect  young  persons  under  the  age  of 


184  ttfoe  Soul 

eighteen,  employed  in  a  factory.  I  knew  these  regulations, 
but  desired  to  see  how  they  worked  in  private  places  of 
employment.  In  the  house  in  this  delectable  street  where  I 
apprenticed  myself,  I  discovered  a  sufferer  totally  unprotected 
by  any  section  of  the  Act. 

"  Madame  Bavard,"  as  I  will  call  the  German  slave-driver 
who  occupied  this  house,  and  with  whom  I  made  only  too 
close  an  acquaintance,  was  a  dressmaker  in  a  small  way.  She 
employed,  chiefly,  apprentices  who  gave  her  a  small  premium, 
and  worked  for  a  certain  time  without  wages.  At  the 
expiration  of  that  period,  they  were  discharged,  and  new 
apprentices  took  their  places,  so  Madame  Bavard's  income 
never  failed. 

It  is  not  with  these  young  people,  however,  that  I  wish  to 
deal,  miserable  as  their  lives  undoubtedly  were,  for  Madame 
Bavard  took  the  utmost  advantage  of  the  long  hours  allowed 
her  by  Parliament  to  work  her  employees,  and  indeed  we 
always  worked  overtime.  But  it  is  of  the  life  of  a  little 
white-faced,  worn-out  child,  just  over  fourteen,  I  want  to  write^> 
who,  ostensibly  employed  as  a  domestic  servant,  had  to  help 
in  the  workroom  when  not  occupied  with  house-work. 

She  lived  out,  and  every  morning  at  7  a.m.,  wet  or  fine, 
appeared  at  the  house.  Her  duties  commenced  by  lighting 
the  fire  and  preparing  the  breakfast  of  her  mistress.  After 
tidying  up,  work  in  the  dressmaking-room  engaged  her  until 
it  was  time  to  prepare  dinner.  This  meal  finished,  and  its 
consequent  cleaning-up  done,  there  followed  errands  to  shops 
for  the  matching  of  silks  and  ribbons;  the  taking  home  of 
finished  work,  and  the  catering  for  the  household.  Bed- 
making,  scrubbing,  window-cleaning,  were  the  recreations  of 
this  factotum  in  the  intervals  of  dressmaking — at  which  she 
toiled  until  8  p.m.  After  this,  having  prepared  our  supper, 
she  was  allowed  to  go  home— to  reach  which  she  had  to 


TKHomen  wbo  Morfc  an&  DBabes  wbo  Meep  185 

traverse  a  low  neighbourhood.  For  all  this  drudgery,  she 
was  rewarded  with  the  munificent  sum  of  two  shillings  a 
week  and  her  food. 

The  hours  she  actually  spent  in  the  business  of  the  "  work- 
shop" did  not  exceed  those  prescribed  by  the  law,  which 
takes  no  cognisance  of  time  given  to  domestic  work  :  besides, 
having  just  pased  the  age  of  fourteen,  she  was  liable  under  the 
clauses  of  the  "  Domestic  Workshop  "  sections  of  the  Factory 
Acts,  to  work  from  6  a.m.  till  9  p.m. — the  hours  permitted 
for  those  under  eighteen.  Imagine  such  hours  of  work  for 
girls !  I  tried  to  help  the  little  creature  when  possible,  but 
was  kept  so  hard  at  work  that  I  had  little  time  to  do  anything 
beside  sewing. 

It  has  been  realised  in  America  that  the  creation  of  a 
public  sentiment  must  precede  any  reform,  and  to  this  end 
an  Association — the  Consumers'  League,  to  which  I  have 
referred — is  working  in  New  York  City.  It  was  formed 
with  the  object  of  rousing  customers  to  a  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility for  the  treatment  of  workers,  and  also  to  enforce 
obedience  to  the  State  Factory  Law.  Under  the  "Sweat- 
shop" Law  of  the  State  of  New  York,  the  manufacture  of 
articles  of  wearing  apparel  is  now  specifically  forbidden  in 
any  tenement  house  without  a  license.  For  this,  application 
must  be  made  to  a  Factory  Inspector,  who,  after  ascertaining 
by  inspection  that  the  premises  are  in  a  clean  and  sanitary 
condition,  grants  such  license. 

In  England,  not  only  is  there  no  license  necessary,  but  no 
lists  need  be  kept  by  employers  of  outside  workers,  unless  "so 
required  by  the  Secretary  of  State."  So  that  the  inspection 
of  these  "domestic  workshops"  depends  upon  the  order  of 
the  Secretary  of  State. 

This  half-hearted  measure  goes  far  towards  explaining 
the  existence  of  the  many  fever-dens  of  the  East  End — 


1 86  Ube  Soul 

which,  under  a  different  system,  would  be  summarily 
closed. 

Within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  inn  chosen  by  Chaucer  as  the 
starting-place  of  his  pilgrims,  may  be  found  a  nest  of  the 
vilest  courts  in  London.  One  morning  I  passed  under  an 
archway  which  leads  from  Tabard  Street,  on  my  way  to 
investigate  what  I  consider  to  be  the  very  worst  form  of  home 
industry  that  ever  existed  in  this  or  any  other  country.  An 
industry  so  bad  that  it  attracts  only  the  most  destitute  and 
hopeless,  and  them  only  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  and 
these  must  submit  to  the  fate  which  forces  them  to  toil  for 
foreigners. 

Fur-pulling  is  a  terrible  means  for  keeping  body  and  soul 
together  at  any  time ;  in  the  warm  weather  it  is  unbearable ; 
therefore  many  who  are  driven  to  the  filthy  trade  in  the 
winter  by  want  of  food  and  lack  of  rent,  desert  it  entirely  in 
the  summer,  and  seek  more  wholesome  employment  in  the 
orchards  and  hop -fields  of  adjacent  Kent.  The  trade  is 
almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of  foreigners — Jews  mostly — and 
they  give  out  the  work  "  on  contract "  to  poor  English 
workers.  I  do  not  personally  know  any  foreigners  engaged  in 
the  actual  work. 

Hare  -  skins  and  rabbit  -  skins  are  collected  all  over  the 
country  by  dealers,  and  most  of  these  find  their  way  to  this 
part  of  London.  Many  skins  of  this  class  are  also  imported 
from  Australia,  New  Zealand,  and  elsewhere. 

After  they  are  plucked  and  cleaned,  they  are  made  up 
into  bales  under  hydraulic  pressure,  and  sent  off  to  the 
manufacturing  centres. 

The  work  of  a  fur-puller  consists  in  removing  the  long, 
coarse  hairs  from  the  skins,  allowing  the  soft,  down-like  fur  to 
remain  :  this  is  made  into  felt.  Nothing,  however,  is  wasted. 
The  coarse  hair  that  is  torn  out  is  used  to  stuff  cheap 


TKHomen  woo  Worft  ant)  3Babe5  wbo  Weep   187 

mattresses,  and  the  skin  itself  is  boiled  down  to  make  glue 
and  size. 

After  much  inquiry,  I  at  last  found  the  home  of  a  fur 
puller.  She  occupied  a  small,  four-roomed  cottage  hidden 
away  in  a  dark  alley — a  pestilential  place  indeed !  On  either 
side,  the  houses  were  overtopped  by  huge  factory  buildings 
which  backed  on  to  the  cottages  and  shut  them  out  from 
sunshine  and  fresh  air.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that 
the  place  was  chosen  :  fur-pullers  object  to  too  much  air,  the 
slightest  draught  makes  their  work  almost  impossible.  It 
drives  the  fine  hair  and  fluff  with  which  the  work-places  of 
these  people  is  impregnated  into  their  eyes,  nostrils,  and  lungs. 
It  is  in  this  impalpable  dust  that  the  chief  danger  of  this 
unsavoury  occupation  lies,  bronchial  catarrh  and  "  fur  fever " 
are  two  diseases  which  attack  the  young  worker,  and  are 
caused  by  inhaling  this  ( '  fluff  "  and  dust. 

When  I  entered  the  cottage,  I  at  once  became  acquainted 
with  this  distressing  feature  of  the  trade.  The  fluff  was 
everywhere,  on  the  floor,  walls,  ceilings,  and  staircases.  The 
place  also  reeked  with  the  sickly  smell  of  decaying  skins, 
which  was  so  nauseating,  that  when  I  got  into  the  room  where 
the  "  pulling  "  was  actually  being  done,  I  felt,  for  a  moment, 
as  if  I  could  not  breathe.  Not  only  did  the  fine  hair  and 
dust  enter  my  lungs  at  every  breath,  but  the  overpowering 
stench  arising  from  the  skins,  that  were  heaped  everywhere, 
made  me  almost  sick.  Skins  were  piled  upon  the  table,  on 
which  also  stood  some  crockery,  denoting  that  food  had  been 
taken  recently  in  this  horrible  place.  In  the  corner  stood  a 
miserable  bed — on  which  also  was  piled  a  heap  of  skins — and 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  filthy  horror  a  little  baby  lay  fast  asleep. 

To  prevent  draught,  the  window  was  tightly  closed,  and  for 
the  same  reason  the  door  had  been  tightly  shut  behind  me. 
In  this  room  three  women  were  working.  They  were  sitting 


1 88  abe  soul  fl&arfcet 

on  low  stools  with  a  rough  wooden  trough  in  front  of  them. 
By  the  side  of  each  was  piled  a  number  of  skins ;  those  on 
which  they  worked  were  held  in  the  left  hand  and  between 
the  knees,  while  the  right  hand  grasped  a  short  knife,  and  on 
the  thumb  was  worn  a  kind  of  guard  fastened  like  a  finger- 
stall. Seizing  the  long,  coarse  hairs  between  the  thumb  and 
the  edge  of  the  knife,  with  a  wrench  they  were  torn  out,  and 
thrown  into  the  trough  in  front.  Afterwards,  this  hair  is 
carefully  collected  and  taken  to  the  factory.  Sixty  skins  are 
supposed  to  produce  two  pounds  of  "fluff,"  as  this  hair  is 
called.  The  pay  for  this  work,  notwithstanding  its  unpleasant 
nature,  is  extremely  poor.  An  experienced  puller  can  only  earn 
about  one  and  sixpence  a  day  when  engaged  on  some 
of  the  skins;  a  bundle  of  sixty  is  called  a  "turn,"  and  the 
pullers  receive  from  sevenpence  to  one  and  sixpence  a 
"turn."  The  average  price  paid  is  about  elevenpence  or  a 
shilling.  For  "  furriners,"  as  the  Australian  and  New  Zealand 
furs  are  called,  a  slightly  higher  rate  is  given,  as  they  take 
longer  to  "pull." 

The  women  have  to  provide  their  knives  and  finger-guards 
from  their  wages,  and  the  occasional  sharpening  of  the  knives 
is  also  paid  for  by  the  workers.  The  work  is  taken  home  at 
midday,  and  is  paid  for  on  delivery. 

It  is  a  wretched,  ill-paid,  unhealthy  trade.  May  Heaven 
help  those  engaged  in  it !  Many  fur-pullers,  however,  do  not 
consider  their  trade  unhealthy.  "  Uncomfortable  at  first,  but 
you  soon  get  used  to  it,"  one  woman  said.  "  Dust !  lor,  we 
don't  mind  that.  We  eats  it,  drinks  it,  and  sleeps  on  it,"  said 
another.  "  And  die  on  it,"  she  might  have  added. 

"People  employing  others  in  this  trade  ought  to  be 
prosecuted  by  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Animals,"  said  a  man  from  whom  I  inquired  the  way  to  the 
home  of  a  fur-puller, 


TKlomett  wbo  Worfc  an&  Babes  wfoo  iraieep   189 

There  is  an  industry,  however,  which  brings  some  beauty 
into  the  lives  of  those  engaged  at  it — albeit  their  purses  may 
be  no  heavier  than  those  of  others  who  have  enlisted  our 
sympathies. 

Artificial  flower-making,  as  practised  in  France,  becomes  an 
art ;  in  England  it  is  too  often  a  bondage,  and  rarely  more 
than  a  poorly-paid  trade.  A  Parisian  girl  wishing  to  learn 
this  business  is  taught  something  of  botany,  and  studies 
natural  flowers,  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  their  structure  and 
tints.  She  learns  to  copy  faithfully  every  part  of  a  flower — 
leaf,  bud,  and  blossom.  Herein  probably  lies  the  secret  of 
French  supremacy  in  this  particular  line.  For  years  the  world 
has  looked  to  France  for  artificial  flowers.  Only  once  during 
the  last  half  century  has  she  disappointed  her  clients,  and  that 
was  during  the  dark  days  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  when 
Paris  was  besieged,  and  London  became  the  centre  of  the 
artificial  flower  trade.  That  was  a  golden  time  for  English 
manufacturers  !  Prosperity,  however,  in  this  line  did  not  last. 
The  lack  of  taste  and  talent  in  England  enabled  France  to 
recover  the  trade  directly  the  war  was  over,  and  in  London  it 
fell  away  to  what  we  now  find  it,  a  second-rate  and  poorly- 
paid  one. 

I  am  aware  that  a  healthy  interest  is  at  present  being  taken 
in  this  industry,  and  that  several  firms  are  endeavouring  to 
raise  the  tone  of  the  English  flower  market.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
they  will  succeed;  for  the  making  of  artificial  flowers  is  a 
trade  pre-eminently  suited  to  women  and  home-work. 

I  have  two  young  friends  in  Islington,  who  earn  a  living  at 
this  trade,  and  it  was  to  them  I  went,  when  seeking  to  enter 
the  "  Profession."  A  description  of  their  home  and  manner 
of  working  may  be  interesting.  They  are  cousins  and  live 
together,  occupying  two  unfurnished  rooms,  for  which  they 
pay  seven  shillings  a  week.  One  room  they  use  as  a  bedroom, 


i  go  TTbe  Soul  dDarfeet 

the  other  as  a  sitting  and  work  room.  They  are  employed  by 
a  wholesale  firm  whose  business  premises  are  situated  at 
Clerkenwell.  As  they  are  very  clever  and  very  diligent,  they 
earn  a  fairly  good  living.  Their  day  commences  about  7.30 
a.m.  Having  cooked  and  eaten  their  breakfast,  they  start 
work,  adhering  to  the  same  hours  they  used  to  keep  in  the 
days  when  they  both  made  flowers  in  a  factory,  although,  as 
they  point  out,  they  really  work  fewer  hours  now,  because 
they  spend  no  time  going  to  or  coming  from  business. 

My  friends  are  chiefly  engaged  in  cheap  rose-making ;  this 
is  the  best  paid  branch  of  that  class  of  work,  and  only  clever 
hands  are  engaged  upon  it.  It  is  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  two 
and  sixpence  a  gross,'  and  each  flower  must  have  leaves,  and  at 
least  one  bud.  Out  of  this  money  glue  has  to  be  provided,  as 
well  as  several  other  necessary  odds  and  ends. 

By  working  hard  for  about  ten  hours  a  day,  they  are  able, 
each,  to  earn  an  average  of  fifteen  shilling  a  week.  Not  an 
enormous  sum  for  an  artistic  trade  that  requires  skill  and 
patience ! 

Through  their  introduction  I  became  acquainted  with  a  poor 
woman  who  worked  on  the  cheapest  and  commonest  kinds 
of  artificial  flowers,  assisted  by  a  crippled  daughter.  Their 
home  was  one  of  the  neatest,  brightest  little  places  I  have  ever 
seen  amongst  the  poor  homes  I  have  visited.  As  is  usual 
with  the  respectable  poor,  it  contained  two  rooms.  I  have 
generally  found  that  where  a  number  of  persons  are  content 
to  live  in  one  room  without  an  effort  to  acquire  more,  it  is 
either  that  they  have  put  themselves  into  bondage  with  the 
publican  and  money-lender,  and  have  lost  all  ambition  and 
strength  of  character,  or  they  live  in  a  neighbourhood  where 
the  property  is  in  the  hands  of  dishonest  landlords — aliens 
mostly.  It  is  not,  however,  always  poverty  that  drives  a 
family  into  one  room — a  cabinet-maker  who  did  small  work  at 


Women  wbo  TKHotft  an&  3Babes  wbo  Weep  19' 

home,  regularly  moved  into  one  room  in  the  winter,  "  because 
he  did  not  like  to  go  to  bed  in  the  cold."  It  did  not  seem  to 
occur  to  the  man  that  a  fire  in  the  bedroom  would  have 
obviated  this  inconvenience — had  he  given  up  his  beer,  he 
could  have  afforded  the  fire  and  two  rooms. 

To  return  to  the  widow  and  her  daughter :  as  I  say,  they 
occupied  two  rooms,  one  of  which  they  used  as  their  work- 
place. The  afternoon  I  called  on  them,  this  room  looked 
quite  gay  with  the  coloured  material  on  which  they  were 
working.  The  daughter  was  seated  on  a  sofa,  surrounded 
with  pillows,  busily  engaged  making  bunches  of  violets — this 
is  the  worst  paid  of  all  the  branches — she  received  i£d.  only 
for  a  gross  of  blossoms.  It  was  interesting  to  watch  the 
thin  white  fingers  of  this  poor  crippled  girl  deftly  forming 
the  pretty  blooms,  while  her  mother  occupied  herself  in 
making  cornflowers,  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  one  and  sixpence  a 
gross.  By  working  early  and  late,  they  were  able  to  earn  about 
fifteen  shillings  a  week,  and  had  but  one  complaint — trade 
was  slack !  "  We  had  to  sit  idle  two  days  last  week,"  said 
the  daughter,  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  mother,  "  if  they  will  give  me  any 
more  out  this  week  when  I  take  these  back.  We  don't  mind 
if  we  can  earn  enough  to  pay  the  rent ;  it  takes  such  a  little 
to  keep  us,  and  anything  is  better  than  the  '  big  house.' " 

I  have  found  that  the  fear  of  the  big  house — that  is,  the 
Union — is  a  large  factor  in  modern  commercialism.  To  take 
work  at  any  price  rather  than  go  into  the  workhouse  is  the 
resolve  of  many  a  poor  worker,  and  the  employer  often  trades 
on  this,  and  endeavours  to  find  out  just  how  low  he  can  cut 
the  price  before  his  employe  is  forced  into  the  Union. 

The  Saturday  morning  after,  when  I  called  on  my  poor 
friends,  I  found  them  in  great  distress.  The  mother  had 
taken  the  flowers  to  the  factory,  but  had  unfortunately 


Soul  /l&arfeet 

offended  the  forewoman,  whose  duty  it  is  to  take  in  and 
examine  the  flowers  made  by  the  outworkers.  This  person 
had  spitefully  refused  to  pass  more  than  half  the  poor  woman's 
work,  therefore  she  had  returned  home  with  scarcely  any 
money,  as  from  the  amount  due  to  her  for  the  work  accepted, 
there  had  to  be  deducted  the  cost  of  the  material  used  on  the 
flowers  which  were  condemned. 

Both  mother  and  daughter  were  in  tears.  I  determined  to 
help  them,  and  after  a  deal  of  persuasion  I  induced  the  mother 
to  return  with  me  and  interview  her  employer.  We  insisted 
on  seeing  this  gentleman.  I  put  the  flowers  before  him  and 
asked  him  to  point  out  in  what  way  they  were  defective.  He 
proved  to  be  not  altogether  an  unreasonable  man.  After 
demurring,  not  so  much  at  the  quality  of  the  work,  as  on  the 
grounds  of  his  having  "  to  keep  up  the  authority  of  the  fore- 
woman, don't  you  know  !  "  he  finally  passed  the  work  himself, 
and  the  widow  got  her  mite. 

In  this  trade,  as  in  many  others  of  the  same  class,  the 
facilities  for  employing  children  is  a  great  temptation  to  the 
poor  home-worker.  School  is  often  neglected,  and  the  School 
Board  visitor  is  met  with  every  excuse  and  subterfuge  imagin- 
able. "  If  the  kids  don't  help,  I  can't  make  both  ends  meet," 
is  a  remark  one  often  hears.  And  Tommy  and  Lizzie,  the 
home-worker's  babies,  become  conscripts  in  the  army  of 
labour  at  an  age  when  the  children  of  the  rich  have  barely 
started  at  the  kindergarten  class. 

If  one  visits  the  streets  in  the  houses  of  which  much  home- 
work is  being  done,  one  will  only  notice — during  the  interval 
of  school-time — the  smallest  children  playing  ;  the  others  are 
busy  helping  to  earn  their  dinners. 

An  amusing  story  is  told  of  a  little  girl  from  Hoxton,  who 
saw  real  roses  for  the  first  time,  and  wanted  to  know  who 
made  them.  Being  told  "  God,"  she  answered  that  "  Gawd 


TKHomen  wfoo  Worfe  atto  JSabes  wbo  Meep  193 

made  better  flowers  than  her  Aunt  Poll ;  'spects  He  has  more 
time  to  stick  'em  together." 

Take,  for  instance,  match-box  making.  Few  fingers  are  too 
old  and  few  too  tiny  to  help  the  match-box  maker ;  children 
and  old  people,  therefore,  are  engaged  in  this  occupation 
perhaps  more  than  in  any  other.  It  is  a  trade  that  requires 
but  little  training,  and  is  very  quickly  learned.  Much  dili- 
gence and  industry — but  little  skill — is  required  to  earn  a 
scanty  livelihood.  The  pay  for  this  work  is  so  mean  that  an 
adult,  unassisted  by  children,  could  not  earn  a  living,  and  few 
makers  work  without  this  help.  This  industry  is  the  last 
resource  of  the  very  poor,  and  the  first  occupation  of  their 
children. 

That  matches  are  too  cheap,  is  the  verdict  of  every  person 
to  whom  I  have  spoken  on  the  subject.  No  one  would  mind, 
as  far  as  I  can  discover,  if  matches  cost  twice  as  much  as  they 
do  now.  If  twice  as  much  was  paid  for  box-making,  the  lives 
of  many  poor  women  and  numbers  of  children  would  be 
rendered  more  endurable.  Matches  are  cheapened  at  the 
cost  of  human  happiness.  Weary,  ill-fed  women,  and  mirth- 
less, playless  children — these  are  the  prices  to  be  added  to 
the  cheap  box  of  matches. 

Some  economists  tell  us  that  we  cannot  pay  more  for  our 
match  manufacture  because  of  foreign  competitors,  that  we 
have  to  sell  matches  cheap,  not  because  the  consumers  will 
not  pay  more,  but  because  the  foreign  manufacturer  supplies 
his  so  cheaply.  If  this  is  so,  the  sooner  some  check  is  put 
upon  this  dumping,  so  that  the  trade  may  be  in  a  position  to 
pay  a  living  wage  to  those  engaged  in  it,  the  better  it  will  be 
for  many  of  our  women  and  children. 

My  friend,  Mrs.  R.,  is  a  match-box  maker,  and  she  lives  in 
a  small  street  near  Bow  Road.  She  is  a  married  woman  with 
five  children.  Her  husband  describes  himself  as  a  "  casual 

N 


194  TTbe  Soul  /l&atfcet 

labourer.''  I  think  a  better  description  would  be  "  confirmed 
loafer."  The  woman  supports  herself  and  her  children  by  her 
match-box  making.  Her  husband  earns  but  little,  and  what 
he  earns  is  spent  in  beer  and  tobacco.  Mrs.  R.  rents  three 
rooms  for  six  shillings  per  week.  In  one  room  a  lodger  sleeps 
with  two  of  her  boys ;  for  this  accommodation  he  pays  two 
shillings  a  week,  thus  reducing  her  rent  to  four  shillings.  Her 
average  earnings,  when  all  her  children  are  well,  she  estimates 
to  be  about  fourteen  shillings  a  week. 

"  It  runs  a  bit  more  when  the  children  'ave  their  'olidays," 
was  one  of  her  remarks.  I  took  a  room  in  a  house  next  to 
hers  and  joined  her  for  a  little  time  at  her  trade. 

The  daily  work  in  this  house  commenced  as  early  as  6.30 
a.m.  A  little  work  was  done  and  then  breakfast  had  to  be 
prepared.  We  did  not  fare  sumptuously.  Weak  tea,  bread 
and  treacle  for  the  children,  and  bread  and  margarine  for  the 
elder  ones.  This  eaten,  the  children  went  off  to  school  and 
the  man  to  "  loaf."  Mrs.  R.  and  I  worked  at  box-making  all 
the  morning.  Any  tidying  up  or  domestic  duties  were  left  to 
the  children  to  do. 

A  short  time  after  twelve  noon,  the  little  ones  used  to  return 
from  school.  One  of  the  tables  was  cleared  of  the  materials 
used  in  the  box-making,  and  a  meagre  dinner  hurriedly  pre- 
'  pared  and  placed  upon  it — prepared  not  by  the  woman,  for 
she  had  to  continue  working,  but  by  one  of  the  elder  children. 
After  bolting  their  food,  these  victims  of  toil  began  work  at 
once.  The  dinner  usually  consisted  of  bread  and  cheese. 
On  rare  occasions  there  was  a  bit  of  bacon  or  fried  fish ;  at 
times,  in  the  winter,  the  children  told  me  they  fetched  soup 
from  a  neighbouring  charitable  institution.  Very  little  time 
was  spent  over  meals  in  this  house :  the  table  was  cleared, 
and  the  children  continued  work  until  the  last  minute  before 
departing  for  school.  The  youngest,  a  tot  of  five  years  old, 


Women  wbo  tRUorfc  ant>  3Babes  wbo  TKfteep   195 

"'elped  muvver"  by  pressing  down  the  pasted  tissue-paper 
which  is  fastened  round  the  boxes  to  keep  them  together. 

Every  one  of  the  family,  except  the  lazy  father,  had  his  or 
her  particular  work  to  do  on  the  boxes.  The  mother  folded 
the  material  into  shape,  and  put  on  the  printed  paper  ;  another 
made  the  "drawer,"  as  the  inside  is  called.  One  of  the 
biggest  children  fastened  on  sand-papers  on  which  the  match 
is  struck.  This  is  the  work  that  the  little  ones  most  object 
to,  "  it  'urts  yer  fingers  so  ! "  Poor  little  fingers,  that  ought  to 
have  been  making  daisy-chains,  or  picking  meadow  flowers  on 
those  warm  June  days  I  was  with  them  working — or  rather 
slaving — for  existence  in  a  hot,  stuffy  room. 

One  of  the  very  smallest  of  the  children  "boxed  up,"  as 
fitting  the  "  drawers  "  into  the  "  covers  "  is  called.  This 
is  absolutely  wasted  labour,  because  they  have  to  be  separated 
in  the  factory  before  they  can  be  filled.  Match-box  makers  in 
factories  are  not  asked  to  do  this,  but  home  workers  are 
obliged  to  deliver  theirs  so  fitted. 

The  price  that  Mrs.  R.  was  paid  for  her  work  is  the  price 
that  rules  throughout  the  trade — 2  Jd.  per  gross.  Think  of  it ! 
288  separate  articles,  from  the  drawer  to  the  cover,  to  be 
handled  for  2|d !  The  price  is  monstrous !  Even  the  deft 
fingers  of  this  woman  could  not  earn  a  penny  an  hour  unless 
she  was  assisted  by  her  children,  and  then,  all  she  could 
hope  to  make  was  about  twopence  an  hour.  Out  of  this,  she 
had  to  provide  fire  to  dry  the  boxes,  paste  for  fastening,  and 
hemp  to  bind  the  boxes  up  in  parcels  when  finished,  for  that 
is  how  they  must  be  delivered  at  the  factory.  Then  there  is 
the  time  taken  up  in  carrying  the  finished  work  there,  the 
waiting  while  the  parcels  are  counted  and  the  work  examined, 
and  for  fresh  work  to  be  given  out.  Mrs.  R.  was  known  as  a 
"steady  hand."  She  always  returned  her  work  at  the  time 
she  was  asked  to  do,  therefore  she  obtained  regular  employ- 


196  Ufoe  Soul  /l&arfeet 

ment — but  what  an  employment !  A  veritable  life  of  slavery. 
No  time  for  motherhood,  affection,  or  pleasure.  Life  one 
continual  struggle,  with  the  wolf  "  Hunger  "  ever  on  her  very 
hearth-stone !  Home  a  factory,  her  children  human  machines, 
deprived  of  all  that  makes  child-life  rosy  and  bright,  their 
health  undermined  by  long  hours  spent  in  the  close  confine- 
ment of  overfu1!  rooms — work,  school,  and  work  again  till 
bed-time — that  was  the  daily  routine. 

"  We've  got  to  work,  or  we  will  starve,"  Mrs.  R.  impressed 
on  me.  Why?  Well,  perhaps  first,  because  there  is  no  law 
to  compel  men  of  the  drunken,  loafing  type  of  this  father, 
to  work  and  support  their  families  in  a  proper  manner. 
Secondly,  because  of  the  curse  of  the  foreign  competition 
which  forces  the  wages  of  this  industry  down  below  a  living 
margin. 

Surely  it  is  a  disgrace  to  our  civilisation  that  any  commodity 
should  be  produced  at  the  expense  of  the  health,  strength, 
and  happiness  of  frail  women  and  children,  who  have  to  work 
long  hours  at  a  starving  wage,  in  order  that  the  consumer 
may  be  supplied  at  a  cheap  rate. 

"Oh,  God,  to  think  that  bread's  so  dear, 
And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap." 

— HOOD. 

"  But  the  child's  sob  curseth  deeper  in  the  silence, 
Than  the  strong  man  in  his  wrath  " 

— Cry  of  the  Children. 

I  was  much  struck  during  the  descents  I  made  into  Poverty 
Kingdom  to  find  in  how  many  cases  the  distress,  overwork, 
and  evilly  bad  pay  was  due  to  the  trades  worked  in  being 
monopolised  by  foreigners.  And  then  again,  the  utter  misery 
of  the  lives  of  the  workers  caused  by  overcrowding,  insanitary 
condition  of  the  houses,  inability  to  claim  a  sufficient  water 


wbo  imorft  ant)  Babes  wbo  TPGleep  197 

supply,  and  all  the  ugly  results  of  desperate  over- population 
in  certain  districts,  was  due  almost  entirely  to  the  fact  that 
the  property  in  those  neighbourhoods  had  been,  bit  by  bit, 
acquired  by  our  alien  friends. 

If  I  have  to  use  severe  language  in  describing  the  lives 
of  the  poverty-stricken  creatures  who  are  engaged  in  home 
industries,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  believe  the  blame 
rests  with  them,  though  I  am  bound  to  admit,  sorrowfully 
enough,  what  will,  I  am  sure,  be  acknowledged  by  every 
philanthropic  society  in  England  to  be  true,  that  a  great  deal 
of  the  want  and  destitution  is  caused  by  the  fact  that  the  men 
who  ought  to  be  supporting  healthy  and  happy  families  by 
legitimate  work,  spend  95  per  cent,  of  their  earnings  in  the  ^ 
public-house — that  is,  if  they  are  earning  at  all,  as  for  the 
most  part,  the  husbands  of  the  women  engaged  in  home 
employments  are  irredeemable  loafers.  The  public-houses 
are  very  often  held  by  foreigners,  though  this  is  not  by  any 
means  universal.  But  there  exists  an  evil  as  great,  I  deem 
it,  as  the  public-house,  which  is  virtually  the  invention  and 
monopoly  of  aliens.  This  is  the  sister  institution  of  the 
public-house — I  speak  of  the  pawn-shop,  of  which  almost 
every  street  boasts  one. 

I  found,  during  my  life  with  the  home-workers,  that  it  was 
a  usual  practice  of  these  distressed  and  over-driven  people  to 
walk  out  with  a  bundle  containing  almost  all  their  worldly 
possessions  on  the  Monday  morning,  to  leave  them  on  their 
way  to  work,  at  the  pawn-shop — from  which  place  they  were 
redeemed  on  Saturday  evening.  In  return  for  these  clothes 
and  household  goods,  they  received  small  sums  of  money,  for 
which  I  have  known  them  to  pay  100  and  even  200  per  cent.; 
but  not  being  able  to  calculate,  they  could  never  be  brought 
to  see  how  fearfully  expensive  this  manner  of  raising  money 
was. 


1 9*  Ebe  Soul  flDarftet 

Among  the  several  branches  of  the  home  industry  trade 
into  which  I  entered  for  the  purpose  of  learning  the  conditions 
under  which  people  employed  in  them  live,  was  that  of  making 
petticoats — the  silk  petticoats  and  blouses  one  sees  in  most 
drapers'  shops  in  London. 

These  two  articles  are  made  partly  at  home  and  partly  in 
the  workshops.  I  knew  a  woman  who  was  in  the  petticoat 
trade,  and  another  in  the  blouse-making  industry.  These 
workers  allowed  me  to  stay  with  them  for  a  little  time  and  find 
out  how  the  work  was  done.  The  woman  who  made  blouses 
lived  in  a  room  in  one  of  the  streets  off  the  Euston  Road ; 
about  this  locality  there  are  a  great  many  tailors'  shops  which 
are  run  by  Germans,  Poles,  and  Jews.  The  woman  lived  alone 
— she  was  a  widow — and  she  procured  for  me  a  small  room 
in  the  same  house  in  order  that  I  might  be  able  to  help  her 
with  her  work.  The  room  was  a  mere  cupboard  made  of 
match-boarding.  For  this  den  I  was  obliged  to  pay  half-a- 
crown  a  week.  The  house  contained  fifty  people.  I  promised 
to  pay  my  friend  two  and  sixpence  a  week  for  teaching  me  the 
trade,  and  giving  me  work  besides.  I  knew,  of  course,  that 
I  could  not  be  a  very  valuable  hand.  I  settled  myself  in  the 
room  one  afternoon,  and  spent  the  evening  with  the  woman, 
turning  down  the  hems  of  the  endless  lengths  of  silk  frills  which 
were  to  be  sewn  on  to  the  petticoats.  It  was  agreed  that  in  the 
morning  I  was  to  accompany  the  woman  to  the  shop,  and  get 
from  the  "  boss  "  some  more  work. 

The  tiny  room  was  furnished  with  a  small  stove,  upon  which 
simple  cooking  might  be  done ;  but  as  long  as  I  was  there  I 
did  not  see  the  woman  cook  anything  except  a  bit  of  bacon. 

She  generally  went  out  and  got  a  meal  "of  sorts"  at  some 
cheap  eating-house  in  the  neighbourhood — it  saved  time,  she 
said.  I  have  described  these  eating-houses  before,  they  are 
all  more  or  less  alike.  But  what  the  woman  always  did  have 


Momen  wbo  TKaorft  an&  Babes  wbo  Meep   199 

ready  was  an  enamelled  tea-pot,  full  of  an  awful  decoction  she 
called  tea,  which  rested  on  the  stove  all  day  and  half  the  night, 
and  was  replenished  with  water  from  time  to  time.  This  drink 
the  woman  took  while  she  worked.  It  kept  her  awake,  she 
said,  and  "  was  comforting-like." 

That  night  she  worked  till  2  a.m.,  and  before  I  left  the 
room  we  had  folded  up  and  made  ready  seven  petticoats. 
Into  these  garments  she  had  put  literally  hundreds  of  yards 
of  stitching,  providing  the  cotton  herself,  had  made  three 
button-holes  for  fastening  the  plaquet-hole  of  each  one,  sewing 
on  three  buttons  to  match,  and  putting  two  drawing  ribbons 
into  each  garment.  For  each  of  these  finished  petticoats  she 
received  the  magnificent  sum  of  fourpence,  the  materials, 
except  the  sewing  cotton,  were  provided,  the  garments  and 
frills  were  cut  out  at  the  shop. 

Next  morning  we  went  together  to  the  shop.  The  woman 
handed  in  her  work,  which  was  minutely  examined  by  the 
"  boss  "  himself.  He  gave  out  to  her  another  half-dozen  petti- 
coats, the  cut-out  silk  for  each  being  carefully  folded  together. 
Then  she  introduced  me.  I  was  so  desperately  anxious  to 
find  out  where  this  man  was  sending  the  garments  for  final 
sale,  that  I  forgot  myself  so  far  as  to  ask  him  where  he  sold 
them  and  for  what  price.  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  he 
gave  me — his  face  was  absolutely  distorted  with  passion.  He 
poured  forth  such  a  volume  of  abuse,  that  I  was  really  afraid 
he  would  commit  some  act  of  violence.  My  poor  friend  was 
frightened  almost  out  of  her  wits.  He  threatened  to  turn  us 
both  out  of  the  shop,  but  after  a  great  deal  of  persuasion  and 
humble  apologies,  he  calmed  down  a  little.  I  explained  I 
was  anxious  for  work  myself,  and  thinking  that  he  mightn't 
have  any  for  me,  hoped  he  might  be  able  to  recommend  me 
to  the  people  with  whom  he  dealt.  This  seemed  to  make 
matters  all  right,  for  he  gave  the  woman  two  extra  petticoats  for 


200  ube  Soul  /l&arftet 

me  to  sew,  remarking  politely  that  as  "  I  was  such  a fool," 

I  wouldn't  be  able  to  do  more,  and  also  threatening  that  if 
the  work  was  not  up  to  the  mark,  she  would  have  to  pay  for 
the  material  spoilt.  The  materials,  I  suppose,  at  the  most 
liberal  estimation,  could  not  have  cost,  at  wholesale  prices, 
above  five  shillings.  We  took  home  our  work.  I  think,  even 
when  I  was  engaged  once  in  cutting  tin  during  a  visit  to  a  tin 
factory,  my  fingers  have  never  ached  more  than  they  did  after 
sixteen  hours  of  almost  continuous  work  at  those  detestable 
petticoats.  For  me  there  was  a  hope  of  change,  but  for  the 
other  poor  toiler,  nothing  in  the  world  to  look  forward  to 
but  death. 

It  would,  of  course,  be  extremely  difficult  to  control  this 
sort  of  work — the  very  employees  themselves  would  endeavour 
to  hide  the  evils  of  the  system  for  fear  of  losing  their  only 
means  of  livelihood.  It  would  be  in  such  cases  as  these  that 
the  Consumers'  League  would  set  its  machinery  in  motion 
— follow  the  petticoats  from  the  Jew's  shop  back  to  tht 
women's  rooms  where  they  were  made,  and  then  to  the  large 
houses  which  bought  them  wholesale.  These  garments  would 
then  be  condemned  as  having  been  manufactured  with  what 
might  be  called  the  price  of  blood.  Let  us  hope  that  no 
decent  woman  would  purchase  them. 

I  found  afterwards  that  these  very  petticoats  made  by  us 
were  sold  to  a  large,  well-known  West  End  firm,  who,  in  their 
turn,  sold  them  to  customers  for  prices  ranging  from  fifteen 
shillings  to  thirty  shillings.  What  the  Jew's  profit  was  I  am 
unable  to  say,  but  my  experience  with  the  class  would  con- 
vince me  that  he  made  an  enormous  profit  on  each.  I  have 
found  that  almost  invariably  the  middleman,  who  is  really  the 
actual  sweater,  is  a  foreigner — either  German  or  Polish. 

My  next  essay  with  the  needle  was  when  I  joined  forces 
with  a  woman  who  made  blouses.  She  lived  near  Paddington, 


IKKomen  wfco  TRUorft  anfc  Babes  wbo  Weep  201 

and  also  worked  for  a  Jew.  He  had  a  shop  in  which  he 
employed  twenty-two  women— all  English— nearly  all  of  them 
took  away  work  to  do  at  home  besides.  In  the  shop  the 
blouses  were  cut  out  and  sewn  together — at  home  the  finishing 
was  done,  any  trimming  that  might  be  necessary,  the  making 
of  button-holes,  putting  on  of  buttons  or  hooks,  and  folding 
the  goods. 

For  work  that  occupied  her  from  eight  in  the  morning  till 
eight  at  night,  in  the  shop,  with  forty  minutes  for  dinner  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  and  half  an  hour  for  tea,  and  again  the 
whole  evening — except  the  hour  that  was  spent  in  lighting  her 
fire  and  getting  some  sort  of  meal  ready,  and  in  tidying  her 
room — till  one  and  two  in  the  morning,  my  friend  earned 
sixteen  shillings  a  week.  She  turned  out  on  an  average  from 
five  to  eight  blouses  a  day.  These  were  not  of  the  very  plain, 
cheap  kind,  but  were  made  of  pretty  muslins  and  silk,  were 
trimmed  more  or  less  elaborately  with  lace,  and  sold  from  six 
shillings  to  twenty  shillings  in  a  shop  not  far  off. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SIDE-LIGHTS   ON   ALIEN   LIFE   IN   LONDON 

HAVING  returned  to  England  from  my  visit  to  the  Con- 
tinent, with  a  great  batch  of  immigrants  from  Hamburg, 
I  rested  a  while,  and  then,  after  fulfilling  some  professional 
engagements,  I  undertook  again  another  excursion  among 
the  outcast  and  poor.  To  accomplish  this  successfully,  it  was 
necessary,  in  a  way,  to  get  lost,  to  change  one's  personality, 
one's  dress,  one's  surroundings.  This  was  accomplished  by 
renting  a  room  in  a  locality  from  where  it  was  easy  to  sally 
forth  in  any  guise,  into  the  various  slum  districts  selected  for 
purposes  of  investigation.  In  this  room  was  stored  a  large 
amount  of  carbolic,  Keating's  powder,  and  other  disinfectants, 
and  a  varied  assortment  of  old  clothes  to  suit  the  different 
characters  I  intended  to  impersonate.  To  anyone  studying 
the  various  grades  of  life  in  the  working  and  submerged 
classes,  it  will  of  course  be  apparent  that  one  disguise  would 
not  effectually  carry  any  person  through  the  various  phases. 
For  instance,  a  factory  girl  is  different  in  a  hundred  small 
ways,  in  the  fashion  of  her  clothes,  in  her  manner  of  walking 
and  talking,  from  the  girl  employed  in  a  small  shop.  Then 
again,  a  tramp  is  wholly  different  from  a  woman  who  obtains 
small  jobs  and  seeks  refuge  in  the  various  shelters.  The 
coster  girl  has  not  much  in  common  with  the  labourer's 

daughter,  and  a  street  singer   is  entirely  different  from  an 

202 


Si&e*OLi0bts  on  HUen  Xife  in  Xou&on    203 

organ-grinder.  There  are  infinite  varieties,  and  any  imper- 
sonation to  be  successful  requires  an  intimate  study  of  the 
class,  a  quick  adaptation  of  speech,  and  a  very  decided 
dramatic  instinct.  Among  the  necessary  paraphernalia  for 
accomplishing  these  disguises  were  several  wigs  of  different 
sorts  specially  bought  and  arranged,  a  box  of  theatrical  paints, 
and  about  twelve  different  sets  of  clothes.  Before  I  really 
appreciated  the  difficulty  of  the  undertaking,  I  went  to  several 
of  the  leading  theatrical  shops  and  overhauled  their  collec- 
tion of  "  costumes  "  for  flower-girls,  factory  girls,  and  other 
characters.  These  I  found  extremely  picturesque  and  quite 
suitable  for  stage  wear,  but  absolutely  useless  for  my  purpose. 
The  only  thing  to  do,  then,  was  either  to  buy  the  clothes  from 
the  different  people  themselves,  or  else  to  make  the  selection  in 
old  clothes'  shops.  An  expedition  into  Petticoat  Lane  proved 
very  useful  to  me.  Many  visits  to  Covent  Garden  and  to  the 
New  Cut  and  other  slum  districts  gave  me  a  tolerably  correct 
idea  of  what  I  would  require,  and  from  various  sources  I 
managed  to  collect  all  the  clothes  necessary  for  my  purpose. 
These  were  bought  in  various  places — places  not  always 
savoury  or  hygienic,  and  to  render  them  innocuous  I  had 
some  boiled,  and  some  disinfected,  and  all  thoroughly  aired. 
One  of  the  most  difficult  things  to  manage  successfully  I 
found  was  the  footgear.  None  of  my  own  shoes  could  be  got  to 
present  the  desired  appearance,  and  it  took  me  days  of  hunting 
and  manipulation  before  I  got  together  the  various  pairs  of 
shoes  and  boots  which  would  carry  me  through  the  journeys 
I  intended  to  make.  It  must  not  be  understood  that  these 
investigations  were  carried  out  consecutively,  for  such  an 
undertaking  would  be  almost  impossible,  the  hardships 
entailed  being  so  extreme.  The  way  I  did  the  work  was 
to  leave  my  things  in  this  room  and  to  go  away  for  a  few 
days  at  a  time.  This  was  easy  for  me  to  accomplish,  as  being 


204  trbe  Soul  fl&arfeet 

continually  away  on  lecturing  tours  or  for  professional  engage- 
ments, it  was  not  an  unusual  thing  for  me  to  be  away  from 
home,  and  I  had  two  friends  who  always  had  my  address,  and 
knew  to  within  a  mile  or  so  where  I  might  be  found.  When 
I  returned  from  the  alien  expedition  in  Europe,  I  was  filled 
with  a  burning  desire  to  make  myself  so  completely  master  of 
the  particulars  of  the  subject  from  its  various  points  of  view, 
that  I  determined  for  a  time  to  live  in  some  of  the  alien 
quarters  and  also  in  those  localities  where  the  evils  plant 
themselves  upon  the  people,  that  I  might  know  of  the  social 
and  economic  evils  arising  from  this  invasion,  as  well  as 
any  advantages  that  might  accrue  to  the  country  or  people 
from  their  presence  among  them. 

The  Royal  Commission  of  Immigration  went  very  fully 
into  the  manner  of  life  of  the  foreign  Jews  who  live  in  the 
East  End  of  London.  Many  newspaper  articles  have  also 
been  published  on  this  subject,  so  that  I  will  only  give  here 
accounts  of  the  lives  of  a  few  of  the  immigrants  now  in  our 
midst.  Every  story  recounted  is  a  personal  experience — not 
all  were  gleaned  at  one  time,  but  the  incidents  and  cases 
came  within  my  personal  knowledge  while  I  was  living  and 
working  among  the  London  poor. 

In  one  of  the  streets  of  the  East  End,  in  a  neighbourhood 
that  is  now  taken  up  almost  entirely  by  foreign  Jews,  there 
is  a  house  where  conditions  obtain  that  are  characteristic  of 
parts  inhabited  by  aliens — that  this  is  by  no  means  an 
isolated  case,  I  know,  but  I  prefer  to  speak  here  only  of 
what  I  have  seen. 

In  this  house  there  are  several  rooms  which  are  occupied 
in  the  day-time,  from  8  a.m.  until  6  p.m.,  for  purposes  of 
"  sweat-shop  "  operations.  One  of  the  rooms  is  about  thirty 
feet  long  by  eighteen  feet  wide,  and  in  this  room,  when  I 
kqew  it,  there  were  twenty  women  working  on  coats  and 


on  HUen  Xtfe  in  Xonfcon    205 

trousers.  They  began  work  at  eight  in  the  morning  and 
finished  at  6  p.m.  By  6.30  the  sewing-machines  in  the 
room  had  all  been  moved  to  one  side  by  the  workers,  the 
scraps  and  refuse  of  the  day's  work  were  brushed  away  into 
corners,  and  pallets  were  laid  down  upon  the  floor.  From 
about  seven  o'clock  there  began  a  stream  of  Jewish  workmen, 
who  were  given  tickets  in  the  room  below,  permitting  them 
to  occupy  these  pallets  from  8  p.m.  till  2  p.m. 

At  2  p.m.  these  warm  beds  had  to  be  vacated  for  other 
workers — these  were  bakers,  wno  had  been  up  all  night. 
They  came  in  with  tickets  permitting  them  to  sleep  from 
2.30  to  7.30.  Then  the  machines  were  brought  out  once 
more,  the  women  arrived,  and  work  began  again.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  for  me  to  describe  the  atmosphere  of  this 
room !  It  never  was  aired  or  unoccupied,  and  the  women 
who  worked  in  this  hideous  place  had  to  perform  their 
duties  in  an  indescribably  fetid  and  germ -laden  air.  I 
worked  in  this  shop  for  two  days,  so  I  know. 

The  owners  of  it  were  two  Polish  Jews,  and  the  rent  they 
paid  for  the  house  was  almost  fabulous.  All  I  need  say  is, 
that  after  my  knowledge  of  their  life  in  their  own  country, 
I  cannot  blame  them  for  pursuing  the  same  occupations, 
under  the  same  conditions,  here.  The  fault  does  not  lie 
with  them,  but  is  due  to  the  non-enforcement  of  the  sanitary 
regulations. 

I  might  add  here  another  characteristic  story  touching  the 
housing  problem :  I  made  friends  with  a  constable  at  the 
London  Docks.  He  had  a  little  house  in  one  of  the  streets 
close  by.  It  was  a  comfortable  cottage,  and  he  had  occupied 
it  with  his  wife  and  two  children  for  seven  years.  I  met  him 
one  day,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  turned  out  of  his 
house.  I  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  But  why  ?  "  I  said.     "  You  were  such  a  good  tenant." 


2o6  TTfoe  Soul  /Ifcarfeet 

The  man  in  his  spare  time  had  painted  the  woodwork  of 
the  place,  repapered  the  walls,  and  took  an  infinite  pride  in 
his  little  home. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  gloomily,  "  they  got  better  tenants.  I  paid 
them  only  twelve  shillings  a  week,  but  I  improved  the  place, 
and  added  a  lot  of  things  to  it;  then  the  landlord  gave  me 
notice — said  that  the  place  was  wanted  by  a  foreigner,  who 
was  willing  to  pay  thirty  shillings  a  week  for  it." 

In  this  case  the  incoming  tenant  converted  the  house  into 
a  lodging-house  by  night  and  a  sweat-shop  by  day.  Here 
were  made  those  cheap  flannelette  dressing-gowns  which  may 
be  seen  in  small  drapers'  shops  in  poor  districts,  marked  from 
one  shilling  and  ninepence  to  three  shillings  each.  I  got 
acquainted  with  one  woman  working  there,  and  she  told  me 
that  she  earned  threepence  a  day,  and  she  worked  for  nine 
hours.  I  proved  this  statement  to  be  absolutely  correct. 

In  many  cases  in  these  ovetteeming  streets  the  competition 
to  obtain  houses  is  so  keen,  that  very  often  the  tenant  of  a 
house  will  be  offered  a  large  sum  of  what  is  known  as  "  key- 
money."  For  instance,  two  people  desire  the  same  house — 
one  will  hurry  off  to  the  outgoing  tenant  and  say :  "  If  you 
give  me  the  keys  before  you  leave,  I  will  pay  you  a  certain 
sum  as  '  key-money  ' ! " 

This  sum  ranges  from  303.  to  £20.  The  explanation  of 
the  "  key-money  "  is,  that  as  "  possession  is  nine  points  of  the 
law,"  the  person  who  desires  the  house  has  a  better  chance  of 
getting  it  from  the  landlord  when  he  actually  possesses  the 
keys,  than  one  who  does  not.  The  irony,  however,  comes  in 
here :  the  landlord,  not  to  be  "  bested  "  in  the  transaction, 
comes  to  the  tenant  and  demands  part  of  the  key-money. 

The  consequence  of  the  key-money  system  is,  that  there 
Is  an  immense  competition  among  the  Jews  of  the  East  End 
who  desire  to  become  landlords  for  themselves.  Indeed,  the 


on  BUen  Xife  in  Xonton    207 

rents  have  gone  up  to  such  an  extent  that  persons  of  ordinary 
income  find  them  prohibitive,  and  cannot  live  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood at  all.  I  know  houses  in  mean  and  filthy  streets 
in  the  East  End  of  London,  whose  rents  are  larger,  in 
proportion  to  size,  than  those  of  houses  in  fashionable 
West  End  streets.  I  also  know  many  English  families  I 
could  name,  who  have  been,  through  these  circumstances, 
crushed  out  of  the  neighbourhoods  they  occupied,  until  they 
are  living  almost  like  beasts,  herded  into  inconceivably  small 
spaces.  This  is  not  an  English  characteristic ;  these  conditions 
are  forced  upon  our  people  because  there  is  no  room  for 
them. 

Foreign  ideas  of  propriety  in  some  of  the  lodging-houses 
are  quite  unique.  If,  for  instance,  you  walk  through  certain 
streets  at  night,  and  if  an  intelligent  constable,  or  friend  who 
knows  the  district,  is  willing  to  conduct  you,  you  will  see 
sights  that  will  be  a  revelation.  I  have  peeped  through 
windows,  and  seen  rooms  of  ordinary  size  occupied  by  four  or 
five  families.  No  efforts  were  made  to  screen  off  portions  of 
the  rooms,  yet  the  people  seemed  to  live  very  contentedly. 

In  one  particular  instance  there  was  a  father,  mother,  and 
grown  son,  making  one  family.  A  father,  mother,  two  grown 
daughters  and  an  infant  made  another  family.  A  third 
family  consisted  of  two  sisters  and  a  boy  lodger;  eleven 
persons  all  occupying  the  same  room  at  night. 

I  used  to  visit  a  family  in  a  very  poor  district  of  London, 
who  were  well  conducted  and  decent  people.  The  father,  it 
is  true,  spent  far  more  than  he  ought  to  have  done  upon 
drink,  which  entailed  upon  the  mother  much  harder  work 
than  would  otherwise  have  been  necessary.  They  had  four 
little  children,  three  boys  and  a  girl,  of  whom  they  were  very 
proud.  The  children  were  intelligent  and  healthy,  although 
they  lived  in  far  from  ideal  conditions,  The  family  had  only 


208  Ube  Soul  /l&arfcet 

two  rooms  in  a  tenement  house,  where  there  was  but  one 
common  staircase.  Into  this  house  came,  one  day,  what  may 
be  called  a  flood  of  aliens ;  twenty  Italians  came  in  and  rented 
the  two  vacant  rooms  in  the  building.  These  people  had  but 
lately  come  into  the  country,  and  they  had,  as  is  usual, 
numbers  of  children. 

These  little  creatures  were  filthily  dirty  and  diseased, 
otherwise  they  were  odd,  bright,  attractive  children.  What 
happened,  however,  was  that  they  grew  friendly  with  these 
four  children  of  English  parents,  and  three  weeks  after,  all 
four  of  these  children  had  ringworm,  and  one  of  them  had 
caught  some  disease  of  the  eyes,  which  eventually  caused  her 
to  lose  one  of  them  altogether.  From  what  I  have  seen  in 
India,  I  think  it  must  have  been  a  sort  of  severe  ophthalmia ; 
but  I  am  not  an  expert  in  eye  diseases  ;  I  only  know  that  the 
poor  little  girl  suffered  dreadfully. 

I  am  acquainted  with  some  Italians  who  make  their 
living  by  organ-grinding,  street-trading,  ice-cream  vending, 
and  such  occupations,  who  are,  as  far  as  they  go,  quiet  and 
respectable  people — personally,  I  like  them  very  much.  It  is 
true,  their  ideas  of  hygiene  are  not  what  one  might  expect  in 
an  enlightened  country ;  but  after  my  experience  in  Italy,  I 
am  quite  willing  to  forgive  them.  That  one  of  my  ice-cream 
friends  makes  his  ice-cream  in  the  family's  one  living-room, 
and  stores  it  under  his  bed,  is  not  wrong  to  his  way  of 
thinking.  The  milk  is  obtained  from  a  little  shop  in  the 
neighbourhood,  where  it  is  exposed  for  as  long  as  may  be  in 
a  window  open  to  the  dusty  street,  and  the  ice-cream  that  is 
left  over  after  the  day's  work  is  stored,  with  a  good  amount 
of  ice,  under  the  family  bed,  and  is  retailed  next  morning 
before  the  new  supply  is  touched. 

My  next  story  is  concerned  with  two  Poles,  who  bought  a 
small  tailor's  shop,  not  in  the  East  End  at  all,  but  in  a  little  • 


on  Hlicn  Xife  fn  Xonfcon    209 

street  off  Fulham  Road.  These  men  were  tailors  by  pro- 
fession. The  former  owners  of  the  shop  had  been  an 
Englishman  and  his  wife — the  man  died,  and  the  woman 
went  away  into  the  country  after  selling  her  shop  to  these 
two  foreigners.  I  happened  to  know  two  sisters  who  were 
employed  in  this  shop  and  lived  not  very  far  off.  One  of 
them  had  earned  sixteen  shillings  a  week,  and  the  other  from 
twelve  shillings  to  fourteen  shillings,  according  to  the  state  of 
trade.  They  had  one  room,  which  was  kept  in  apple-pie 
order ;  they  were  devoted  to  each  other,  and  were  thoroughly 
good,  hard-working  girls — both  English. 

When  the  two  Poles  came  into  possession  of  the  shop — they 
were  not  Jews,  by  the  way — they  changed  the  whole  manage. 
It  is  true  that  they  gave  these  girls  the  option  of  working  on 
at  six  shillings  a  week  each,  considering  it  splendid  pay; 
when  they  refused,  they  put  in  their  own  people,  and  the 
girls  lost  their  occupation,  when  times  were  bad  and  work  was 
hard  to  get. 

I  give  here  a  table  of  wages  which  can  be  accepted  as 
coming  from  an  authoritative  source,  and  will  throw  some  light 
on  what  Italians  look  for  on  coming  to  this  country : 

Brass  workers,  average  pay  per  day,  is.  6d. 

Founders,  25.  6d. 

Machinists,  25.  3d. 

Masons,  23.  3d. 

Carpenters,  23.  3d. 

Workers  in  chemical  products,  2s.  6d. 

Workers  in  cotton,  is.  3d. 

Workers  in  wool,  is.  4d. 

Miners,  is.  3d. 

Farm  labourers  under  contract,  8d. 

Farm  labourers  not  under  contract,  5d. 


«io  Ube  Soul 

Farm  labourers  not  under  contract  in  summer,  lod, 

Farm  labourers  in  harvest-time,  23.  3d. 

Women  workers  in  silk,  6d. 

Women  workers  in  cotton,  rod. 

Women  workers  in  wool,  lod. 

Women  workers  in  country,  £d, 

In  Italy  such  wages  would  enable  the  labourers  to  live  in 
fair  comfort  according  to  their  ideas.  In  England,  where  rent 
is  high  and  food  dear,  the  wages  mean  a  low  standard  of 
living,  and  such  unfair  competition  with  British  labour,  that 
ugly  results  to  our  own  people  follow. 

The  Royal  Commission  on  Alien  Immigration  had  much 
conflicting  evidence  to  deal  with,  but  on  the  labour  question 
the  following  paragraph  is  included  in  their  report : 

"  Leaving  the  skilled  labour  market  out  of  the  question,  we 
think  it  proved  that  the  industrial  conditions  under  which  a 
large  number  of  aliens  work  in  London,  fall  below  the 
standard  which  ought,  alike  in  the  interests  of  the  workmen 
and  the  community  at  large,  to  be  maintained." 

Later  on  the  following  remarks  appear  : 

"  It  must  be  recognised  that  the  majority  of  these  aliens 
arrive  in  this  country  in  a  state  of  comparative  poverty.  For 
the  most  part  they  make  their  way  to  certain  portions  of  the 
East  End  of  London.  Here  they  find  an  insufficient  house 
accommodation,  and  so  being  unwilling  to  leave  the  locality, 
they  are  housed  under  conditions  most  unfavourable  to 
cleanliness  and  good  sanitation. 

"  But  as  time  proceeds,  many  of  these  men  enter  upon  a 
different  phase  of  existence.  With  the  possession  of  greater 


Sifce-Xf0bt0  on  Blfen  Xife  fn  lonfcon    211 

skill  and  knowledge,  their  earnings  increase,  and  they  are 
able  to  improve  their  modes  of  life.  The  balance  of 
evidence  before  us  is  favourable  to  the  aliens  after  they  have 
reached  this  stage.  They  appear  to  be  industrious  and  thrifty. 
One  of  the  complaints  against  them  is  that  their  hours  of 
labour  are  too  long,  and  that  their  tendency  is  to  grow  rich." 

Embodied  in  the  report  is  a  list  of  various  classes  of 
immigrants  regarded  as  undesirable  —  criminal,  diseased, 
weak-minded,  and  so  on.  If  legislation  were  put  in  force  to 
debar  these  from  our  shores,  little  or  no  complaint  would  be 
made. 

With  regard  to  the  pauper  alien,  the  problem  is  different, 
and  it  is  with  regard  to  him  that  the  chief  point  with  which 
the  Alien  Question  concerns  itself  is  raised.  On  the  one 
hand,  it  is  contended  that  a  good  and  thrifty  citizen,  even  if 
he  be  a  poor  one,  is  useful  to  any  country ;  on  the  other,  that 
the  lowering  of  the  market  value  of  labour  must  be  bad  for 
those  who  have  to  make  their  living  by  labour.  It  cannot, 
however,  be  good  for  a  country  to  have  its  trade  gradually 
slip  into  the  hands  of  foreigners,  and  the  standard  of  living 
reduced  to  such  a  low  level  that  no  man  can  live  decently,  or 
bring  up  a  family  in  health  and  comfort  if  he  happens  to 
belong  to  a  trade  that  is  commandeered  by  the  German  Jews 
or  other  foreigners.  For  instance,  cabinet-making,  which  was 
once  a  flourishing  trade,  is  now  done  almost  entirely  by  aliens. 
These  people  live  together  like  rabbits.  They  fill  the 
hospitals,  and  send  their  children  regularly  to  certain  hospitals 
where  they  are  recognised  as  suffering  from  "  mal-nutrition," 
and  given  various  foods  and  cod-liver  oil.  This  fact  I  have 
from  a  well-known  physician,  who  is  attached  to  a  big  hospital. 

Indeed,  this  alien  pauper  curse  has  grown  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  public  is  obliged  to  support  them  through  the 


2i2  TTbe  Soul  fl&arfcet 

hospitals.  As  in  Chicago,  so  there  are  in  London  certain 
streets  and  localities  peopled  almost  entirely  by  foreigners, 
these  strangers  having  "  eaten  out "  the  original  inhabitants. 
In  England,  however,  it  is  the  foreigner  who  preys  on  the 
native,  which  is  perhaps  a  greater  evil  than  has  been  shown 
to  exist  in  America,  where  the  native  preys  on  the  foreigner. 
The  alien  has  always  the  choice  of  remaining  in  his  own 
country. 

One  ugly  feature  of  the  Alien  Question  in  Britain  is  the 
increasing  number  of  criminal  men  who  live  on  the  earnings 
of  immoral  women.  It  must  not  be  supposed  for  one  instant 
that  the  victims  of  these  awful  creatures  are  only  women  of 
their  own  nationality.  Among  the  many  cases  which  have  this 
year  come  before  the  police  courts,  a  large  percentage  of  the 
women  victimised  by  men  of  this  class  have  been  English. 
Most  workers  among  girls  and  women  in  England — that  is  to 
say,  ladies  belonging  to  the  Metropolitan  Association  for 
Befriending  Young  Servants,  members  of  the  Travellers'  Aid 
Society,  or  of  the  Girls'  Friendly  Society,  or  of  Working 
Girls'  Clubs,  would  be  able  to  corroborate  from  personal 
experience  the  assertion,  that  in  encouraging  an  indiscrimi- 
nate number  of  undesirable  aliens  to  enter  this  country,  we 
are  putting  a  premium  on  some  of  the  most  dastardly  and 
insidious  forms  of  vice.  There  are  to-day  in  London  scores 
of  girls  who,  but  for  these  hideous  foreign  vampires,  would  be 
following  decent  employment  in  domestic  service,  or  other 
spheres  of  usefulness.  I  give  two  cases  out  of  many  that  have 
come  under  my  own  personal  knowledge  of  this  traffic  in 
English  girls. 

There  was  sent  to  me  one  day,  with  a  recommendation  from 
an  office  where  she  had  applied  for  work,  a  young  girl  who 
was  starting  life  as  a  typewriter.  She  had  been  educated  in 
a  convent  school  in  the  country,  and  was  absolutely  innocent 


on  HUen  Olite  in  Xon&on  '213 

of  any  evil.  I  was  not  able  at  that  time  to  find  her  a  post} 
but  gave  her  several  letters  to  offices  in  the  city  where  I  knew 
many  girl  clerks  were  employed.  She  was  not  successful 
in  obtaining  immediate  employment,  though  one  firm  promised 
to  engage  her  at  the  end  of  six  weeks,  as  a  clerk  of  their  own 
was  leaving  to  be  married.  Then  this  girl  did  what  thousands 
of  girls  in  London  and  other  large  cities  do  every  day.  She 
went  to  a  free  library  to  look  through  the  advertisements  in 
the  papers.  In  one  leading  London  daily  she  found  an 
advertisement  offering  good  wages  and  permanent  employment 
to  a  young  girl.  An  address  was  given  in  the  city  where  the 
applicants  were  invited  to  attend  personally.  This  girl  went 
immediately.  In  a  little  top-storied  room  in  an  obscure  back 
lane,  two  foreign  scoundrels  were  waiting  for  their  victims. 
They  received  the  girl  very  pleasantly,  and  she  found  that 
there  had  been  many  applicants,  and  three  young  girls  were 
waiting  for  an  interview  at  that  moment.  She  was  taken  into 
an  inner  room,  and  it  was  explained  to  her  that  the  position 
offered  was  in  Antwerp.  She  was  to  have  £2  a  week 
and  everything  found ;  and  she  was  to  sign  a  paper  binding 
herself  to  be  ready  to  leave  for  her  post  on  a  certain  date. 
The  child  was  so  overjoyed  at  the  liberality  of  the  salary 
offered,  and  so  carried  away  with  the  idea  of  going  abroad  and 
seeing  the  world,  that  she  signed  the  paper.  Two  days  after, 
the  woman  with  whom  she  was  living,  who  was  also  known  to 
me,  accompanied  the  girl,  who  came  to  say  good-bye.  I  might 
mention  here  that  she  was  an  orphan,  and  had  to  depend  on 
herself  for  earning  a  living. 

When  I  heard  this  story,  and  the  promise  offered,  I 
inquired  at  once  as  to  whether  anyone  had  guaranteed  the 
faith  of  these  men  at  Antwerp.  Of  course  such  a  question 
had  never  entered  the  girl's  head.  She  had  made  no  inquiries 
whatever,  but  had  believed  everything  to  be  straightforward 


2i4  ^Tbe  Soul  /l&arfcet 

on  the  strength  of  an  advertisement.  Both  the  woman  with 
whom  she  was  staying  and  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  she 
might  be  robbed  or  murdered,  if  she  went  abroad  alone  with- 
out protection.  She  was  in  genuine  distress,  for  she  had 
signed  the  paper  and  was  to  start  in  three  days'  time. 
However,  I  persuaded  her  to  allow  me  to  make  inquiries 
about  these  men  and  their  bond  fides,  and  had  to  promise  that 
in  case  of  her  losing  the  appointment  through  my  interference, 
I  would  keep  her  until  she  could  get  some  other  post.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  give  details  of  the  result  of  the  inquiry ; 
suffice  it  to  say  that  the  men  were  able  to  give  no  guarantee  at 
all,  and  inquiries  at  Antwerp  proved  that  they  had  no  office  or 
standing  in  that  city  whatever.  Indeed,  one  of  the  men  was 
a  known  bad  character.  They  would  have  decoyed  away  this 
girl,  who  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  probably  have  flung 
her  out  into  the  street  to  earn  money  for  them. 

A  case,  also  of  traffic  of  this  sort,  which  goes  on  constantly 
in  London,  was  told  me  by  a  young  governess.  She  also 
answered  an  advertisement.  The  post  was  represented  to  be 
that  of  governess  to  an  only  child.  The  child's  mother, 
the  advertisement  stated,  was  dead,  and  the  father  required 
a  young,  accomplished,  very  bright  and  good  -  tempered 
governess-companion  for  his  child.  The  girl  was  met  in  a 
good  house  in  a  well-known  square  by  a  lady  who  was  very 
fashionably  dressed,  but  who  smelt  strongly  of  drink ;  also  she 
was  painted  and  appeared  to  have  dyed  her  hair.  The  girl 
instantly  became  doubtful,  but  was  reassured  when  the  lady 
informed  her  that  she  was  the  gentleman's  sister,  and  was 
commissioned  by  him  to  interview  the  applicant  for  the 
position.  She  said  that  she  liked  this  applicant  and  would 
offer  her  a  salary  of  ^"75  a  year  and  everything  found,  and 
added  that  the  position  was  a  most  comfortable  and  desirable 
one.  It  was  necessary,  however^  that  the  applicant  should 


on  Blien  Xffe  in  Xon&on    215 

take  up  the  work  the  very  next  day,  as  the  little  girl  would  be 
coming  up  from  the  country,  and  her  father  did  not  wish  her 
to  be  alone.  The  governess  said  she  would  let  them  know  by 
that  evening's  post  whether  she  would  accept  the  position. 
The  lady  appeared  dissatisfied,  and  said  she  could  not  remain 
in  uncertainty.  As  everyone  knows,  it  is  no  easy  matter  for 
a  governess  to  obtain  a  post  carrying  so  good  a  salary;  the 
labour  market  is  overcrowded  with  women  seeking  every 
conceivable  kind  of  work.  The  girl  had  a  mother  and  two 
young  brothers  who  were  partly  dependent  on  her  exertions ; 
she  hesitated  a  few  minutes  and  then  accepted  the  place, 
agreeing  to  come  back  the  next  evening.  According  to 
promise  she  arrived  the  next  day,  and  was  shown  into  a 
splendid  suite  of  apartments.  There  were  three  rooms, 
opening  one  into  the  other,  and  she  was  told  that  one  was  to  be 
hers.  She  noticed  that  there  was  no  door  between  her  room 
and  the  next,  which  seemed  a  large  dressing-room,  an  open 
archway  with  a  curtain  between  was  the  only  partition.  She 
hastily  took  off  her  things  and  went  downstairs,  where  she 
was  met  by  another  woman,  whose  appearance  and  general 
characteristics  seemed  to  be  much  the  same  as  those  of  the 
lady  she  had  seen  the  day  before.  The  girl  asked  her  where 
her  charge  was,  and  was  told  that  the  little  girl  had  not  yet 
arrived.  Then  she  asked  the  lady  where  the  gentleman's 
sister  was. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  woman,  "  she  is  gone  to  fetch  his  daughter 
from  the  country." 

It  grew  dusk,  and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  little  girl  nor 
of  the  woman  the  governess  had  seen  first,  neither  were  there 
any  servants  visible.  The  poor  girl  went  up  to  her  room  and 
began  unpacking  a  few  of  her  things,  when  presently  a  voice 
said: 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 


zi6  Ufoe  Soul  /I&arfeet 

Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  said  "Yes,"  and  a 
foreign  man  entered  the  room.  The  girl  was  not  a  little 
startled,  and  when  he  explained  that  he  was  her  employer,  she 
said  she  would  rather  see  him  downstairs. 

The  man  said :  "Oh,  very  well,"  and  left  her. 

Then  instantly  some  instinct  seemed  to  warn  the  girl  that 
she  had  placed  herself  in  a  very  dangerous  position.  She 
remembered  that  she  had  seen  no  servants,  and  grew  almost 
hysterical  as  she  pictured  to  herself  the  hopelessness  of  her 
position,  if  indeed  she  had  been  trapped. 

However,  she  went  downstairs  and  found  both  the  man 
and  woman  in  the  dining-room,  where  cake  and  wine  were 
placed  on  the  table.  They  asked  her  to  have  some  refresh- 
ment, which  she  declined.  She  realised  that  if  she  was  ever 
to  get  out  of  that  house  she  would  have  to  keep  absolutely 
calm  and  give  no  hint  of  the  fears  that  possessed  her.  Both 
the  man  and  woman  indulged  in  coarse  remarks  and  jokes ; 
they  appeared  to  be  on  very  friendly  terms,  and  when  the 
governess  asked  her  when  her  charge  was  to  appear,  the  man 
said : 

"Oh,  she'll  be  here  quick  enough,  my  dear;  don't  be  in 
a  hurry,  you  shall  see  her  to-morrow  morning." 

"To-morrow  morning!"  said  the  girl.  "I  was  told  she 
was  to  be  here  this  evening." 

"  Ah,  but  she  has  missed  the  train,"  said  the  man. 

Then  in  a  careless  manner,  as  if  to  dispel  their  suspicion, 
the  girl  laughed  and  said  :  "  Oh,  well,  I  shall  just  go  upstairs 
and  write  a  letter." 

She  went  to  her  room  and  hastily  took  an  envelope  out  of 
her  box,  scribbled  an  address  on  it,  stamped  it,  and  putting 
on  her  hat,  hurried  downstairs  again.  In  the  hall  she  met 
the  man,  who  offered  to  post  her  letter  for  her.  She,  how- 
ever, declared  that  she  would  rather  post  it  herself,  as  she 


on  HUen  Xife  in  Xon&on    217 

would  take  a  walk  round  the  square.  The  man  informed 
her  that  he  did  not  like  the  women  of  his  house  to  do  those 
things  themselves. 

It  was  growing  dusk,  and  a  horrible  terror  seized  on  the 
girl  that  he  would  refuse  to  let  her  out  of  the  house ;  but  she 
assured  him  she  was  accustomed,  always  before  the  evening 
meal,  to  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  exercise,  and  she  would 
just  post  the  letter  and  come  back.  Very  reluctantly  the 
man  let  her  out.  The  girl  went  to  the  pillar-box,  and  then 
walked  from  there  to  the  nearest  police-station,  where  she 
explained  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  leave  her  luggage  in 
this  house  and  desired  to  get  home.  She  had,  of  course, 
absolutely  no  case  to  make  out  against  the  people,  but  the 
inspector  to  whom  she  spoke  seemed  in  no  way  astonished 
at  her  plight.  He  asked  the  number  of  the  house  and  con- 
sulted with  some  other  policeman,  and  then  turning  up  a 
book,  said :  "  Ah,  yes ;  I  have  been  watching  that  place  for 
some  time."  It  seemed  that  the  owner,  a  Belgian,  bore  a 
very  bad  character,  and  kept  several  women — or  rather  they 
kept  him.  But  his  affairs  were  managed  in  such  a  careful 
and  cunning  manner  that  it  was  months  before  any  definite 
charge  could  be  made  against  him. 

The  dangers  that  menace  young  girls  in  the  great  cities  ot 
Britain  are  increased  a  thousandfold  by  the  unrestricted  influx 
of  aliens  of  evil  character. 

There  are  some  localities  in  London  which  are  almost 
entirely  foreign;  indeed,  some  places  are  so  alien  in  their 
characteristics  that  one  might  fancy  oneself  in  anolhei 
country  on  entering  them. 

To-day,  the  Brick  Lane  end  of  Wentworth  Street,  White- 
chapel,  is  one  of  the  most  un-English  spots  in  the  British 
Isles.  On  finding  oneself  there,  it  would  require  but  little 
imagination  to  believe  oneself  in  some  foreign  city;  the 


*i«  TTbe  Soul 

Bights,  sounds,  and  incidentally  the  smells,  are  so  utterly 
different  to  those  found  in  purely  English  slums.  Which- 
ever way  one  turns,  one  sees  nothing  but  foreign  figures 
and  hears  nothing  but  foreign  tongues.  Fur-capped  Russians 
rub  shoulders  with  whiskered  Hollanders ;  Jews  from  the 
Levant  mingle  with  their  brethren  newly  arrived  from  the 
snows  of  Siberia.  Here  stands  a  bearded  Jew,  with  the  face 
and  figure  of  a  Raphael  cartoon.  There  is  a  woman  selling 
lemons ;  her  shawl  enwraps  the  face  of  a  Botticelli  Madonna. 
Thick-lipped  "Fagins"  and  grey-haired  philosophers,  pretty 
faces  and  hook-nosed  ugliness ;  nowhere  perhaps  in  the 
whole  of  England  can  one  see  so  varied  or  so  picturesque 
a  crowd. 

All  these  strange  folks,  be  they  ugly  or  beautiful,  are  bent 
on  business.  Every  person  one  sees  is  either  buying  or 
selling.  Rows  of  men  stand  hawking  lemons ;  others  sell 
onions,  carrying  them  in  long  strings  round  their  necks. 
Here  comes  a  man  calling  out,  in  jargon,  something  that 
sounds  like  "sock  o'  lolly."  He  carries  a  pail;  look  in  it 
and  you  will  see  green  gherkins  floating  in  a  mysterious 
liquid.  Over  there  stands  a  grey-whiskered  man  surrounded 
with  barrels  of  salted  Dutch  herrings.  He  thrusts  his  dirty 
hands  into  one  of  the  barrels  and  brings  out  a  handful  of 
the  fish,  which  he  displays  on  a  board  on  the  top  of  one  of 
his  barrels,  the  while  extolling  his  wares  in  the  language  of 
David.  Here  and  there,  at  the  side  of  the  kerb,  are  heaped 
piles  of  fusty  old  clothes,  surrounded  by  stooping  women 
and  girls,  turning  over  the  bundles,  seeking  bargains. 

Barrows  full  of  old  boots  and  shoes  stand  next  to  those, 
filled  up  with  strange-looking  bread  stuffs,  made  in  every  kind 
of  shape  and  colour  conceivable.  Gaudy  splashes  of  colour 
are  given  to  the  market  by  barrows  heaped  with  remnants  of 
silk,  which  dark-eyed  Jewesses  examine  with  interest.  Every 


on  BUen  %ife  in  Xon&on    219 

house  in  the  street  is  a  shop,  and  in  every  shop  there  is  a  Jew. 
The  whole  gamut  of  petty  business  seems  to  be  carried  on  in 
this  thoroughfare — from  the  retailing  of  cheap  and  shoddy 
jewellery  to  the  vending  of  fried  fish.  In  one  shop  is  sold 
nothing  but  pickled  cucumbers.  There  is  a  shop,  little  more 
than  a  hole  in  the  wall,  hung  round  with  bullocks'  offal,  an 
awful-looking  spot  indeed.  Some  shops  are  stocked  with 
curious  -  looking  sacks  of  beans  and  peas ;  others  retail 
scarcely  anything  but  foreign-looking  cheese. 

The  prevailing  note  of  the  place  is  frankly  foreign.  The 
very  costers  pushing  their  barrows  full  of  indifferent  fruit  and 
fish  call  attention  to  their  wares  with  foreign  cries.  Little 
children  trip  along  singing  nursery  songs  learnt  in  some  far-off 
land.  The  walls  of  the  houses  are  covered  with  Hebraic  or 
Yiddish  placards.  The  goods  in  the  shops  are  marked  with 
Hebrew  prices.  Here,  fixed  on  the  door-post  of  a  closed 
butcher's  shop,  is  an  order  in  Yiddish,  issued  by  the  Board 
of  Sechedin,  the  body  that  takes  on  the  management  of  the 
slaughtering  of  animals  according  to  the  Talmudic  law, 
Could  you  but  read  it,  you  would  learn  that  this  body  warns 
the  orthodox  Jew  from  purchasing  anything  at  the  closed 
butcher's  shop  over  the  way,  the  butcher  having  been  dis- 
covered in  the  act  of  selling  meat  that  was  not  Kosher — that 
is,  the  flesh  of  animals  that  had  not  been  slaughtered  in 
accordance  with  Jewish  rite  and  fashion. 

No  meal  seems  to  be  so  popular  with  the  foreign  Jew  as 
that  consisting  of  fowl,  or  perhaps  fried  fresh -water  fish. 
Every  Thursday  Middlesex  Street,  Wentworth  Street,  and 
Matilda  Place  are  all  devoted  to  the  sale  of  these  foods. 
The  kerbs  are  lined  with  barrow -loads  of  fish  and  fowl. 
Jews  who  have  been  retailing  old  clothes  or  boots  all  the 
other  days  of  the  week  blossom  out  at  this  time  into  poulterers 
and  fishmongers.  Probably  there  are  more  fowls  sold  in  the 


220  irbe  Soul  flDarfcet 

East  End  of  London  on  a  Thursday  afternoon  than  are  sold 
in  all  the  other  parts  of  the  metropolis,  and  fresh-water  fish 
can  hardly  ever  be  obtained  in  London  excepting  at  the  fish 
markets  or  in  these  East  End  streets. 

The  original  inhabitants  of  these  places  have  all  been 
crowded  out.  The  foreigners  have  no  use  for  them,  except 
as  sweated  menials. 

I  have  visited,  in  company  with  Consular  officials  and 
Salvation  Army  officers,  some  of  the  bad  European  slums, 
and  there  is  little  difficulty  in  recognising  the  influence  that 
immigrants  from  these  places  have  had  on  the  submerged 
population  of  our  great  cities. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE   SIMPLE   LIFE,    WITH   VARIATIONS — HOW   I   LIVED 
ON   SIXPENCE   A   DAY,    AND   EARNED    IT 

THE  late  famous  Dr.  Abernethy  was  reported  to  have  given 
this  prescription  to  a  wealthy,  gouty  old  patient  who  went  to 
consult  him:  "Live  on  sixpence  a  day,"  said  the  famous 
professor,  "and  earn  it,"  and  for  this  he  pocketed  a  fee  of 
two  guineas. 

It  might  seem  to  the  uninitiated  that  this  advice  was  not 
worth  the  money,  but  Dr.  Abernethy  knew  what  he  was 
talking  about.  He  knew  that  the  only  hope  for  his  overfed 
patient  was  work  and  exercise  of  some  sort ;  but  it  is  never 
necessary  for  an  East  End  physician  to  give  prescriptions  of 
this  kind  to  his  patients. 

The  same  sun  shines  upon  -the  East  and  West  alike.  The 
same  fogs  descend  upon  rich  and  poor,  and  the  Scriptures  tell 
us  that  the  same  God  made  and  created  all  men  in  His  image, 
with  souls  of  equal  value  in  His  sight. 

In  the  light  of  modern  civilisation,  and  with  the  experience 
of  years  of  life  in  a  Christian  land,  it  might  be  forgiven  to  the 
sceptic  that  he  doubts  this  assertion.  It  is  very  difficult  to 
make  a  man  who  is  sent  to  gaol  for  three  years  for  stealing  a 
sovereign  to  feed  his  starving  family  believe  in  the  justice  and 
equity  of  our  laws,  when  he  knows  that  a  neighbor;  of  his 

who  has  tortured  his  children  and  beaten  his  wife  till  he  left 

221 


222  Hbe  Soul 

her  a  hopeless  cripple  in  the  gutter  receives  a  sentence  of 
three  months. 

Such  contrasts  in  the  workings  of  the  law,  all  those  who 
follow  the  Police  Court  reports  are  constantly  being  made 
aware  of. 

Since  the  publication  of  Charles  Wagner's  beautiful  book, 
"The  Simple  Life,"  there  have  been  columns  in  the  daily 
press,  besides  discussions  and  articles  in  the  various  magazines, 
on  the  subject.  I  have  heard  an  American  millionaire's  views 
on  the  matter,  and  have  also  discussed  it  with  an  English 
lady  whose  income  is  ^11,000  a  year,  and  who  spends  about 
£20  a  week,  during  the  season,  in  the  London  beauty  shops, 
under  the  conviction  that  because  she  pays  her  maid  £2  less 
a  year  than  is  usual,  and  requires  her  cook  to  give  an  account 
of  the  dripping  used  in  her  kitchen,  she  is  really  leading 
an  ideally  simple  life.  The  American  friend  who  descanted 
on  the  matter  wrote  several  articles  in  his  own  papers,  of 
which  he  owns  some  twenty  or  thirty  in  the  United  States. 
He,  like  Mr.  Rockefeller,  insists  on  the  advantages  of  thrift 
and  economy  among  the  people.  He  had  been  travelling 
through  Europe  on  a  motor  car,  being  followed  in  another 
by  a  courier,  valet,  and  an  enormous  quantity  of  luggage. 
On  arriving  in  London,  he  installed  himself  in  a  magnificent 
suite  of  rooms  at  the  Savoy.  The  simplicity  of  his  life  con- 
sisted in  reducing  the  tips  of  the  waiters,  and  in  taking  a 
breakfast  of  fruit  from  a  Bond  Street  shop,  instead  of  the 
ordinary  heavy  repast  of  meat  usually  provided. 

His  daughter  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  stayed  with  them 
for  a  time  as  their  guest,  and  accompanied  them  on  a  motor 
tour  through  Oxfordshire,  Warwickshire,  and  some  of  the 
midland  counties.  The  girl  has  an  allowance  of  10,000 
dollars  a  year.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  she  did  not  get 
into  debt,  and  I  never  heard  a  complaint  from  her  as  to  the 


Simple  SLffe,  wftfo  iflarfatfons       223 

shortness  of  her  allowance,  but  these  good  people  who 
advocate  for  the  leading  of  a  simple  life  gave  me  some 
pleasure  by  allowing  me  to  tell  them  a  little  of  the  Simple 
Life,  as  understood  by  an  Arab  chief  and  an  East  End 
worker. 

In  Arabia,  which  is  at  the  present  day  so  unhappy  as  to 
have  eluded  all  efforts  at  Christian  civilisation,  a  chief  will  live 
contented  and  respected,  a  man  among  men,  with  his  family, 
on  £20  a  year,  and  be  passing  rich  at  that. 

Imagine  a  country  where  a  man  can  live  on  a  handful  of 
dates  and  a  drink  of  water,  march  thirty  miles  in  the  day, 
and  fight  half  the  night  perhaps,  without  breaking  down  or 
running  away. 

Imagine  the  degraded  state  of  women  who  travel  in  the 
caravan  with  their  husbands  till  within  an  hour  of  the  birth  of 
their  children.  The  expectant  mother  on  the  march  drops  out 
of  the  caravan  with  some  female  attendant,  brings  forth  her 
child,  bathes  it  in  the  sand,  ties  it  on  to  her  back,  and 
marches  cheerfully  on  to  rejoin  the  caravan,  which  has 
travelled  perhaps  some  twenty  miles  further  on. 

Could  one  conceive  of  the  deplorable  state  of  a  country 
which  has  no  factory  laws,  no  poor  laws,  no  labour  members, 
and  where  there  is  not  even  a  charity  organisation  ? 

In  such  a  benighted  land  a  man  sits  in  his  little  hut  with 
his  family  round  him  on  the  floor,  eating  his  simple  meal  of 
unleavened  bread  and  dates,  or  dried  fish.  The  door  is  open, 
there  passes  a  stranger  who  has,  through  some  misfortune, 
neither  home  nor  food.  The  man  of  the  house  sees  him, 
calls  to  him,  and  says  :  "  In  the  name  of  God  enter  and  eat." 
Water  is  given  him  to  wash  his  hands  and  feet,  he  joins  the 
little  family  group  and  shares  their  homely  fare,  then  thanking 
them  in  the  name  of  God,  he  departs. 

Imagine    a    tramp  entertained  at  any  dinner-table  in   a 


2*4  ZTbe  Soul  flfoarfcet 

Christian  country.  Such  a  thing  would  not  be  possible; 
because  the  tramp,  himself  a  product  of  high  modern 
civilisation,  is  so  filthy  and  degraded  an  object  that  he  is 
only  fit  for  the  society  of  swine. 

Though  I  was  not  suffering  from  gout,  I  determined  to 
try  the  Simple  Life  in  London  by  living  on  the  wages  I 
earned  with  some  of  the  outcast  and  poor  of  the  city.  In 
order  to  live  on  sixpence  a  day  in  London  one  has  to  be  very 
far  from  simple.  It  is  necessary  to  know  where  food  can  be 
bought  cheapest,  and  where  shelter  may  be  obtained  for  next 
to  nothing. 

Mr.  Charles  Booth,  in  his  wonderful  study  of  the  economic 
conditions  of  the  people  of  London,  states  that  30  per  cent, 
of  the  inhabitants  of  this  great  city  are  living  in  poverty, 
and  that  about  one  in  every  ten  of  the  homeless  poor  seek 
relief. 

An  estimate,  based  upon  the  census  of  the  poor  in  the 
East  End  of  London,  also  compiled  by  Mr.  Booth,  gives  the 
enormous  percentage  of  one  in  every  four  of  London's  popula- 
tion to  be  either  a  pauper,  homeless,  starving,  or  very  poor. 
To  these  people  the  Simple  Life  becomes  a  daily  reality ;  in 
fact,  it  has  been  cultivated  to  such  an  extreme,  that  they  are 
able  to  do  without  almost  everything  that  other  people  would 
consider  necessary  to  a  civilised  life. 

Like  the  famous  professor's  horse,  they  have  been 
successfully  trained  to  do  without  almost  everything,  and  it  is 
only  just  at  the  moment  when  they  are  reduced  to  the  one 
straw  a  day  that  they  inconsiderately  "  go  and  die." 

The  difficulty  of  putting  myself  into  a  position  where  I 
would  have  no  money  of  my  own,  and  of  being  able  to  earn 
not  more  than  sixpence  a  day,  was  very  great ;  but  I  at 
length  succeeded,  with  the  help  of  a  friend.  To  begin  with, 
I  had  of  course  to  dress  for  the  part.  I  had  to  leave  a 


ttbe  Simple  Xife,  wftb  tflariatfons       225 

respectable  neighbourhood  and  go  forth  looking  as  much  like 
the  people  amongst  whom  I  was  going  to  live  as  possible. 

After  some  rummaging  in  my  "  property  box,"  we  secured 
a  really  dreadful  assortment :  boots  three  sizes  too  large  for 
me,  down  at  the  heel  and  tied  with  twine. 

The  matter  of  a  skirt  was  harder  to  manage.  I  had  put  on 
a  very  old  black  one,  and  as  I  had  used  it  for  scrambling  up 
and  down  hills,  lying  out  in  the  woods,  day  after  day,  one 
summer  in  it,  I  thought  it  was  sufficiently  disreputable,  but 
Mr.  C.,  my  friend,  on  whom  I  depended  for  my  introduction 
into  Poverty  Kingdom,  was  dissatisfied. 

"  It  isn't  what  you'd  go  to  a  duke's  lunch  party  in,  exactly ; 
but  there's  something  about  it  that  won't  do." 

Then  I  remembered.  The  wretched  thing  had  been  built 
by  a  fashionable  tailor,  and  had  an  unmistakable  hang  about 
it.  Well,  after  some  difficulty  another  skirt  was  found,  a 
wibbly-wobbly  thing  that  translated  me  into  Poverty  Kingdom 
at  once.  I  borrowed  a  dirty  sailor  hat,  tore  the  crown  from 
the  brim,  thinking  that  it  would  make  it  shabby  enough,  but 
Mr.  C.  insisted  on  sitting  on  it,  and  then  it  really  did  look 
awful.  I  wore  an  ancient  blouse  my  landlady  had  done  her 
washing  in,  and  throwing  over  me  an  old  shawl,  we  started 
out,  a  very  questionable-looking  pair. 

We  left  the  house  fairly  early  in  the  evening,  and  did  not 
return  until  six  in  the  morning. 

Our  way  lay  through  mean  streets  in  the  Westminster 
borougn.  In  these  foetid  alleys  there  seems  no  idea  of 
bed-time  for  the  babies:  there  were  scores  of  them  playing 
in  the  gutters.  Untidy  women  and  filthy  men  herded 
at  lowering  doors.  Here  and  there  a  public -house 
flung  broad  beams  of  light  on  to  the  squalid  pavement 
Strange  that  these  places  should  be  the  only  spots  in  poverty- 
haunted  streets  that  do  not  bear  an  impress  of  poverty.  It 


226  zrbe  soul  fl&arftet 

is  always  a  mystery  to  me  why  these  miserable  victims  of 
drink  and  overcrowding  do  not  rise  in  desperation  and  tear 
down  the  places  that  batten  on  their  shrunken  fortunes. 

When,  after  some  wandering,  we  got  out  of  Westminster 
slums,  we  found  ourselves  by  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  The 
streets  were  alight  and  pulsating  with  life. 

We  passed  on  to  the  Embankment,  which  might  well  be 
called  the  Waiting-Room  of  Travellers  in  Poverty  Station.  I 
was  already  tired — for  we  had  covered  about  four  miles,  passing 
in  and  out  of  those  horrid  streets — so  we  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  benches. 

Presently  a  woman  came  and  dropped  down  on  the  other 
end  of  the  bench ;  her  clothes  were  fairly  good,  but  her  shoes 
were  battered  and  she  limped  slightly.  We  watched  her 
quietly  for  a  while,  then  my  companion  began  talking  to  her. 

Conversation  progressed  very  slowly.  I  have  since  learnt 
that  these  children  of  suffering  speak  but  little.  We  were 
together  some  time,  and  bit  by  bit,  in  broken  sentences,  she 
told  us  some  of  the  secrets  of  her  life.  I  had  determined  that 
nothing  should  compel  me  to  any  emotionalism,  but  I  grew 
almost  hysterical  as  Mr.  C.  drew  from  this  poor  creature 
particulars  of  the  existence  which  we  were  trying  to  qualify 
for. 

She  had  been  so  tossed  about  and  bruised  herself,  that  one 
might  have  supposed  that  no  touch  of  sympathy  would  have 
remained  in  her ;  but  she  stooped  over  and  looked  at  me 
from  time  to  time,  she  was  so  sorry  for  my  evident  suffering. 

"  Never  mind,  dearie,  it  won't  seem  so  awful  when  you  get 
more  used  to  it.  It  is  always  dreadful  at  first.  You'll  find 
you  can't  sleep  out  more  than  two  nights,  but  if  you  go  into 
the  casuals,"  she  said,  "don't  you  mind  them  there.  They 
will  bully  you  shockingly,  but  hard  words  don't  kill.  I  was 
so  frightened  the  first  night  that  I  gave  up  the  idea  of  going 


tTbe  Simple  Xffe,  witb  IDariatfons       227 

in,  and  tramped  the  streets  all  night  instead,  the  man  was 
such  a  big  bully.  But  you  get  used  to  it,"  she  continued 
pathetically.  "Just  be  deaf  and  dumb." 

I  was  surprised  at  her  speech,  and  found  she  was  well 
educated. 

"Is  there  no  other  place  I  could  find  shelter  in?"  I  asked  her. 

"  Not  unless  you've  got  money,  dear.  There  are  very  few 
places  of  shelter  for  women  in  London." 

I  then  remembered  reading  that  in  the  year  1903  the 
average  numbers  admitted  into  casual  wards  in  London  on  a 
Friday  night  were  778  men,  188  women,  and  19  children.  It 
would  be  interesting  to  know  how  much  it  cost  to  shelter  this 
comparatively  small  number  of  London's  outcasts. 

"Do  the  shelters  cost  much?"  I  inquired  of  my  companion, 

"Mostly  fourpence.  There  are  one  or  two  you  can  get 
into  for  twopence,  and  if  you  have  nothing  you  just  stay  in 
the  streets." 

On  another  occasion  I  went  into  one  of  these  shelters 
myself,  but  of  them  I  shall  write  in  another  article,  for  to 
have  even  fourpence  is  to  rise  in  the  social  scale,  and  means 
having  work. 

The  three  of  us  on  the  Embankment  were  beginning  to 
doze  when  a  policeman  came  by  and  ordered  us  to  move 
on.  We  walked  towards  the  city,  and  the  woman  accompanied 
us,  with  the  apologetic  air  of  an  ownerless  dog  who  will  sneak 
after  anyone  for  companionship. 

We  gathered  from  stray  remarks  that  she  had  come  from  the 
country  with  a  tiny  capital  to  seek  work  in  London.  She  never 
found  it.  The  money  was  spent,  her  clothes  wore  out,  and 
she  found  herself  one  of  the  many  for  whom  the  world  had  no 
place.  She  noticed  that  I  was  crying,  and  thinking  it  was  my 
own  misfortune  that  troubled  me,  she  pressed  a  halfpenny 
into  my  hand. 


228  Tibe  Soul  fl&arftet 

"  You  can't  buy  anything  for  a  ha'penny  till  morning,"  she 
said.  "The  coffee  is  a  penny  a  cup  at  night,  but  at  five 
o'clock  you  can  get  a  cup  for  a  ha'penny ;  it  is  dreadful  to 
be  hungry  till  you're  used  to  it."  I  walked  swiftly  away,  and 
she  said  to  Mr.  C. :  "  Don't  be  hard  on  her,  she's  such  a  little 
thing." 

Can  you  imagine  the  heavenly  charity  of  the  poor  creature  ; 
she  had  eaten  nothing  that  livelong  day,  but  she  gave  me  her 
last  halfpenny. 

I  never  understood  charity  till  I  lived  with  the  poor.  The 
grand  dames  of  London  might  do  worse  than  study  this  grace 
with  those  who  go  hungry  that  some  worse  fated  creature 
may  be  fed. 

We  heard  the  Westminster  clock  chime  two,  and  set  our 
faces  towards  the  Bridge.  Mr.  C.  asked  me  if  I  would  mind 
waiting  there  for  a  few  minutes  while  he  went  to  look  for  a 
coffee-stall. 

It  was  very  quiet,  and  I  stood  under  the  shelter  of  the 
parapet.  A  little  further  down  a  woman  was  leaning  over, 
looking  into  the  water.  Something  in  her  attitude  arrested 
my  attention,  and  I  walked  on  till  I  was  within  a  few  feet 
of  her,  and  there  I  waited.  No  sound  came  up  except  the 
swirling  of  the  water  by  the  bridge  piers,  and  I  heard  her  say 
softly :  "  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  ! "  She  dropped  her  head  in 
her  hands,  and  I  knew  she  was  crying.  I  went  up  very 
softly  and  put  my  hand  on  her.  She  threw  me  off  roughly. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  saw  by  her  face 
she  was  quite  young. 

"  I  am  just  a  girl  like  you,"  I  said.  "  Won't  you  tell  what  is 
the  matter ;  it  is  so  dreadful  to  be  alone  ?  "  Her  pity  was 
instantly  reached. 

"Poor  little  thing  !  "  she  said  gently;  "have  you  come — to 
end  it  all  ?  "  pointing  to  the  water  below. 


TTbe  Simple  %ffe,  witb  iDarfatfoiw       «9 

"  Oh,  but  that  would  be  such  a  poor  end,"  I  said. 

We  talked  for  a  little  while :  the  girl  said  she  was  a  colonel's 
daughter.  Unsuccessful  as  a  governess,  she  had  tried  various 
other  callings  with  moderate  success  till  a  severe  illness  over- 
took her,  and  she  went  into  hospital,  only  to  come  out  to  find 
starvation  or  the  streets  waiting  for  her.  She  could  face 
neither  prospect,  and  stood  on  the  bridge  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  pass  into  a  world  which  could  not  be  more 
cruel.  She  jumped  eagerly  at  the  chance  of  going  to  America 
as  a  £2  steerage  passenger. 

I  must  say  in  reference  to  this  story  that  I  satisfied  myself 
of  the  truth  of  the  girl's  statements,  and  discovered  that  she 
was  very  capable  of  domestic  service.  No  one  would 
recommend  her  in  England,  and  she  was  incapable  of  further 
effort  in  seeking  work.  Introductions  were  secured  for  her 
to  the  right  sort  of  friends  in  America.  Left  on  the  bridge, 
she  would  have  added  one  to  the  hideous  roll  of  suicides  in 
1904.  The  number  in  1901  was  3,057. 

I  was  terribly  tired  when  my  companion  returned,  and  it 
was  with  very  lagging  feet  that  we  wandered  on  towards 
Blackfriars.  We  walked  up  Thames  Street  towards  Billings- 
gate Market.  Who  would  know  these  long,  soundless  streets, 
with  dark,  gaping  alleys  here  and  there,  for  those  same  busy 
highways  we  are  accustomed  to  in  London.  When  we 
reached  Billingsgate  we  felt  we  were  in  a  city  of  the  dead — 
here  and  there  a  predatory  cat  or  a  skulking  dog  slipped  past, 
or  a  sleepy  policeman  yawned  loudly  as  he  strolled  by.  It 
was  too  early  for  the  market,  so  we  went  on  to  Smithfield. 
Sleepy  butchers  were  dragging  out  sacks  and  carcases  from 
high-piled  carts;  here  and  there  a  fat  cat  rubbed  herself 
against  the  benches. 

It  was  not  a  very  enlivening  scene,  so  we  sought  a  coffee- 
stall,  and  finding  none,  went  into  Lockhart's;  the  butchers' 


Soul  /l&arftet 

boys  and  carters  were  drinking  coffee  at  little  tables,  but  they 
refused  to  serve  us.  "  No  females  in  here,"  said  the  man, 
looking  suspiciously  at  me.  I  was  ready  to  cry  with  disap- 
pointment, I  wanted  some  coffee  so  much.  However, 
presently  we  found  a  place  where  the  despised  sex  might 
slip  in  unostentatiously,  swallow  some  food,  and  depart. 
We  were  served  with  two  hot  cups  of  coffee  and  an  enormous 
hunk  of  cake  each  for  fourpence. 

Somewhat  refreshed,  we  travelled  back  to  Fleet  Street. 

A  strange  white  shimmer  was  on  the  streets.  The  weirdness 
of  the  empty  Strand  has  a  marvellous  fascination,  and  we 
had  a  photograph  taken  of  it.  The  picture  was  taken  at  a 
quarter  to  four  one  morning.  Half  an  hour  later  this 
particular  part  of  the  Strand  was  blocked  with  market  carts 
overflowing  from  Covent  Garden — a  sight  never  seen  during 
the  day. 

We  wandered  about  for  a  while,  and  presently  out  of  the 
printing-offices  printers  and  pressmen  issued.  Long  strings 
of  red  carts  drew  up  outside  the  publishing  buildings,  to 
distribute  the  papers  that  had  been  printed  while  part,  at 
least,  of  London  slept.  From  here  we  dragged  our  weary 
limbs  to  Covent  Garden.  By  this  time  we  had  both  fallen 
into  the  unmistakable  slouch  of  the  drag-footed  stray.  My 
feet  were  so  badly  blistered  that  I  could  hardly  move.  Our 
friend  on  the  Embankment  had  told  us  that  we  could 
probably  get  a  job  at  shelling  peas  at  Covent  Garden, 
or  bottling  fruit  at  one  of  the  factories.  I  "went  for"  the 
peas.  The  "Garden"  was  absolutely  choked  with  market 
carts ;  we  were  obliged  to  crawl  under  the  very  wheels,  and 
in  and  out  of  horses'  legs  to  get  into  the  market.  I  dis- 
covered here  a  new  calling  for  women — that  of  cart-minding. 
We  met  a  bright  girl,  with  a  saucy  face  and  impertinent 
tongue,  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Meg.  She  took 


ttbe  Simple  Xife,  witb  Darfatfons       231 

charge  of  dozens  of  the  market  carts.  Every  owner  was 
known  to  her  by  name,  and  every",  horse  too.  She  told  us 
she  was  paid  twopence  for  every  cart  she  took  in  charge. 
I  do  not,  however,  feel  justified  in  recommending  the  pro- 
fession, for  it  needs  considerable  training.  It  would  be 
necessary  to  be  prepared  for  physical  encounters  with 
thieving  boys,  and  all-night  duty. 

Early  as  we  were  at  the  pea-shed,  some  hundred  wretched 
creatures  were  already  busy  shelling  peas  with  incredible 
speed.  Orily  women  are  employed  at  this  work.  They  sit 
on  upturned  baskets  or  stools  in  rows  down  the  length  of 
the  shed.  A  man  at  one  end  gave  each  woman  an  apron  or 
skirt  full  of  peas.  These  she  shelled  into  a  flat  tin  pan  and 
brought  back  to  be  measured.  The  "  boss  "  poured  the  peas 
into  a  tin  quart  measure  and  gave  the  woman  a  metal  disc 
for  each  quart  done.  These  were  exchanged  later  for  three- 
pence each.  I  was  so  worn  out  and  exhausted  that  I  only 
managed  to  earn  twopence.  Then  Mr.  C.  came  and  took 
me  away.  I  had  endured  all  that  was  possible  for  that  one 
night.  And  following  on  that  experience,  I  tasted  the  bitter 
cup  of  charity  in  a  casual  ward,  an  experience  I  have 
described  in  another  chapter. 

My  second  essay  at  earning  a  living  by  pea-shelling  was 
more  successful;  this  time  I  entered  a  factory  where  fruit 
and  vegetables  are  preserved  for  table  use  and  export  trade. 
I  earned  from  fourpence  to  sixpence  a  day,  and  managed  my 
exchequer  with  the  skill  of  a  professional  financier,  for  I 
continued  to  balance  my  expenditure  exactly  with  my  income. 

In  the  morning  I  spent  a  halfpenny  on  a  mug  of  cocoa 
and  a  halfpenny  on  a  bun  at  Lockhart's. 

In  the  day  I  bought  two  bananas  for  a  penny ;  this  made 
my  midday  meal.  Thus  I  had  twopence  left  to  pay  for  a 
box  at  the  Salvation  Army  Shelter,  but  I  had  nothing  for  ar 


«3*  trbe  Soul  /l&arfeet 

evening  meal  unless  I  was  able  to  earn  an  extra  penny  or 
two.  For  me,  of  course,  though  this  was  bad  enough  at  the 
time,  it  was  no  lifelong  tragedy,  but  there  are  literally 
hundreds  of  creatures  for  whom  this  state  of  semi-starvation 
is  a  normal  condition.  Could  any  well-fed,  comfortably- 
housed  person  imagine  what  suffering  is  endured  by  those 
who  are  always  hungry  1  Yet  hunger  is  not  the  worst  evil 
those  poor  creatures  have  to  endure.  One  of  the  bitterest 
parts  of  a  respectable  woman's  sufferings  is  the  impossibility 
of  keeping  clean  when  driven  from  home. 

These  wanderers  make  deliberate  and  futile  efforts  after 
cleanliness.  I  have  seen  them  secretly  trying  to  wash  and 
wring  out  a  garment  in  a  Park  pool,  or  Trafalgar  Square 
fountains ;  but  this  is  strictly  forbidden,  and  there  is  danger 
of  their  being  caught  by  the  police  while  so  engaged. 

The  suffering  caused  by  dirt  is,  to  many  of  these  women, 
utterly  intolerable.  One  woman  told  me  she  didn't  mind 
being  hungry  so  much  as  being  dirty.  She  said  if  she 
didn't  get  something  in  a  day  or  two  she  would  throw  herself 
into  the  Thames.  "  It'll  wash  my  soul  and  body  too,"  she 
said  despairingly. 

The  Salvation  Army  Shelters  are  excellent,  but  they  cost 
from  twopence  to  fourpence,  and  above  all,  are  so  crowded, 
it  is  quite  impossible  for  women  to  find  shelter  there  always. 
I  have  been  in  one  of  these  Shelters  myself,  and  know  they 
are  quite  good. 

Let  anyone  who  thinks  it  fun  to  be  poor  and  homeless  try 
the  hospitality  of  the  streets  for  even  one  night.  The  humour 
of  the  situation  palls  after  the  first  two  hours. 

There  is  a  crying  need  in  this  wealthy  city  for  decent 
shelters  for  women.  I  counted  during  one  of  my  weary 
nights  in  London  thirty-three  women  in  a  small  area  who, 
to  all  appearances,  seemed  quiet  and  respectable,  though 


TTbe  Simple  Oltfe,  witb  IDariations       233 

homeless.  I  spoke  to  twenty  of  them.  Out  of  the  number, 
eleven  offered  to  "share"  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  bit  of  bread 
with  me,  or  tried  to  leave  a  penny  with  me.  I  confess  I 
cried  a  good  deal,  and  these  dear  children  of  sorrow 
thought  my  trouble  was  greater  than  theirs.  They  are 
indeed  homeless  amid  a  thousand  homes. 

One  experience  that  broke  me  down  utterly  was  outside  a 
casual  ward. 

We  had  been  waiting  a  couple  of  hours  to  see  the  people 
come  out.  A  respectable  but  starved-looking  working  man 
came  out  from  the  men's  side.  We  talked  with  him  for  some 
time.  He  was  a  mechanic  from  Chatham,  come  with  his  wife 
to  find  work  in  London.  They  were  obliged  at  last  to  seek 
refuge  in  the  casual  ward,  and  he  waited  for  his  wife  to  come 
out.  They  had  not  a  penny.  We  gave  him  sixpence,  and  he 
said  :  "  Thank  God,  it'll  get  a  meal  for  the  missus ;  she's  the 
best  soul  alive."  When  the  gates  opened  and  the  motley 
crew  of  women  struggled  out,  he  went  forward  to  meet  his 
wife.  She  was  not  there.  Presently  he  was  told  she  had 
been  sent  out  the  day  before,  and  so  had  wandered  out  into 
the  streets  alone.  The  poor  fellow  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 
"  My  God,  she'll  die  alone  in  London,"  and  he  fainted  from 
pure  agony  of  mind.  Fleeing  from  this  heart-rending  sight,  I 
came  on  a  group  of  little  children  in  an  empty  packing-case 
near  the  Opera  House  in  Drury  Lane.  These  three  London 
sparrows  were  feeding  themselves  on  little  bullet-like  green 
gooseberries  they  had  picked  up  under  the  carts  in  Covent 
Garden.  Green  gooseberries  form  an  ideal  food  to  raise  the 
sons  of  the  Empire  on  ! 

With  such  an  excellent  food  supply  one  still  wonders  how  it 
was  that  in  1903,  2,452  children  under  twelve  years  of  age  and 
9,004  between  that  age  and  sixteen  were  convicted  of 
indictable  offences. 


234  TTDe  Soul  /IDarKet 

From  very  close  observation  of  their  work  I  feel  sure  that 
Dr.  Barnardo  or  the  Salvation  Army,  between  them,  could 
rescue  and  provide  for  all  these  unhappy  victims  of  Fate, 
who  now  become  such  heavy  charges  on  the  State. 

I  hold  no  brief  for  either  of  these  magnificent  organisations, 
I  only  speak  from  what  I  have  seen.  The  splendid  work- 
ability of  their  methods,  and  the  quickness  with  which  they 
act,  are  tremendously  in  their  favour.  But  they  have  to  beg 
and  plead  for  money.  It  seems  a  curious  policy  to  prefer  to 
pay  heavy  rates  for  prisons  and  workhouses  when  money 
spent  on  curative  and  preventive  measures  would  be  far  less 
expensive  and  far  more  effectual. 

Sometimes  it  is  an  affliction  to  have  a  sense  of  humour ; 
one  sees  things  in  lights  that  more  sober  mortals  are  utterly 
unable  to  see.  In  the  face  of  the  awful  conditions  of  our 
towns  and  streets  in  Britain  it  seems  odd  that  such  anxiety 
should  be  displayed  about  the  "  souls  of  the  heathen,"  who, 
as  far  as  my  personal  knowledge  of  them  goes,  compare 
favourably  with  the  "heathen  at  home."  I  thought  of  the 
sights  and  sounds  I  had  seen  and  heard  in  London  slums 
when  attending  a  meeting  where  the  awful  sins  of  heathenism 
were  being  talked  about.  It  seemed  to  me  funny  that  souls  ten 
thousand  miles  off  should  be  accounted  so  much  more  precious 
than  those  in  the  London  streets.  Why,  for  instance,  is  it  a 
more  heinous  crime  for  a  Hindoo  widow  to  be  badly  treated 
than  for  an  English  girl  to  be  without  shelter  in  London 
streets,  starving  and  cold  ?  It  will  not  avail  to  say  they  need 
not  starve  if  they  do  not  wish  to. 

No  one  who  has  suffered  hunger  and  cold  is  such  a  fool  as 
to  suppose  any  creature  would  choose  to  endure  either.  I 
have  no  Utopian  scheme  to  suggest.  But  these  homeless 
women  lie  heavy  on  my  heart,  and  it  is,  I  think,  possible  to 
secure  them  rest  and  shelter  at  small  cost. 


Simple  OUfe,  witb  iParfations       235 

I  am  assured  by  several  experts  on  matters  of  social  service 
that  it  would  be  quite  possible  to  provide  a  shelter  capable 
of  accommodating  1,000  women  nightly  for  ^20,000.  This 
place  would  have  lavatories  and  wash-tubs  underground,  and 
a  small  room  for  a  caretaker. 

It  might  be  warmed  with  hot-water  pipes.  There  need  be 
no  beds,  only  comfortable  seats,  and  the  place  could  be 
flushed  every  morning.  Here  women  could  rest  in  a  clean, 
warm  place.  Cheap  food  might  be  provided  at  a  rough  bar 
at  cost  price  if  advisable. 

Such  a  shelter  would  be  a  God-send  to  the  poor  harried 
children  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON     OUTPOST     DUTY 

MY  experience  in  the  Salvation  Army  Shelters,  and  the  help 
and  sympathy  extended  by  Salvationists  to  those  in  dire  need, 
made  me  eager  to  examine  for  myself  the  effect  of  their  work 
on  the  evil  characters  in  really  bad  neighbourhoods,  so  when 
the  opportunity  presented  itself  I  seized  it.  Now  I  know  how 
it  is  that  we  sleep  secure  in  our  comfortable  beds,  when 
thousands  are  homeless,  and  how  it  is  that  despair  and  passion 
do  not  urge  desperate,  starving  creatures  to  riot  and  murder. 
It  is  because,  unknown  to  the  careless  world,  numbers  of 
God's  patient,  loving  servants  devote  their  lives  to  caring  for 
these  dread  people.  Believe  me,  it  is  not  the  law  and  the 
police  who  effectually  keep  down  awful  demonstrations  of 
crime — it  is  the  Divine  labour  and  love  of  all  those  men  and 
women  who,  being  lost  to  the  world,  ceaselessly  toil  and  suffer 
for  humanity. 

I  think  it  was  the  bonny  face  peeping  out  from  under  the 
hideous  poke  bonnet  of  blue  adorned  with  the  red  badge  of 
the  Salvation  Army,  that  won  me  to  an  interest  in  the 
peculiar  work  the  owner  was  engaged  in.  She  was  standing 
where  rushing  streams  of  London  traffic  made  crossing 
impossible,  and  we  waited  on  an  island,  clinging  to  a  lamp- 
post to  keep  our  balance,  for  the  refugees  were  crowded  thick. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  a  sudden   smile  illuminated  her 

236 


©It  ©UtpOSt  2>Ut£  137 

freckled  face.  My  heart  went  out  to  her  instantly.  She 
looked  so  bright  and  wholesome— and  as  the  girls  say  down 
Hoxton  way — "  we  spoke." 

She  told  me  as  we  rollicked  citywards  on  the  top  of  a 
bumpy  'bus,  that  she  had  been  into  the  country  on  "  exchange 
duty,"  another  Sister  taking  her  place  for  three  weeks  on 
"  outpost  duty."  She  had  enjoyed  her  holiday,  if  holiday  it 
might  be  called,  considering  that  she  was  at  work  the  whole 
time,  but  it  was  the  change  into  the  pure  air,  and  a  sight  of 
the  trees  and  grass  she  had  revelled  in,  and  now  she  returned 
to  the  great  city,  fresh  as  a  country  flower,  and  as  good  to 
meet.  She  laughed  merrily  when  I  inquired  innocently  as  to 
the  meaning  of  "outpost  duty,"  "Slum  Sister,"  and  other 
unfamiliar  expressions  she  used,  and  said :  "  Why,  Sister,  I 
guess  you'd  better  come  along  with  me  to  my  room,  and  you'll 
find  out  for  yourself  what  it  all  means."  I  was  not  able  just 
then  to  accompany  her,  but  before  we  reached  Liverpool 
Street  she  had  given  me  her  address,  and  I  had  promised  to 
meet  her  some  day  at  a  place  named  by  her  not  far  from 
where  her  work  lay.  "  As  yet,"  she  said,  "  we  have  not  gone 
to  live  exactly  at  the  worst  spot,  but  Lieutenant  Francis  and  I 
mean  to  get  there  yet." 

Some  months  after  this  meeting,  when  my  heart  was  sore 
with  much  contact  with  poverty  and  misery,  and  I  was 
burning,  not  only  to  touch  "  the  heart  of  things,"  but  to  see 
some  way  out  of  the  awful  slough  of  crime  and  misery  for  the 
miserable  creatures  I  had  been  travelling  among,  I  thought, 
in  my  indignation  and  despair,  of  Captain  Molly,  and  wrote, 
claiming  her  promise  to  show  me  "light  in  dark  places." 
After  the  delay  of  a  few  days  I  received  her  answer,  asking 
me  to  meet  her  at  Barracks  No. .  I  went. 

"  Well,  I'm  just  as  glad  as  can  be  to  see  you.  I  thought 
you  had  forgotten,"  she  said ;  "  but  are  you  sure,  my  dear, 


238  Ube  Soul  fl&arfcet 

you  realise  what  you  are  undertaking  ?  It  isn't  a  pleasant  place 
for  strangers,  where  I  live." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  I  said ',  "  if  you  can  live  there,  I  can 
visit  there." 

"  It  isn't  quite  the  same  thing,"  she  said.  "  Besides,  you 
see,  my  uniform's  a  protection." 

"  If  I  come  with  you  I  shall  wear  a  uniform  also,  if  you  will 
let  me." 

She  looked  dubious.  "  Sit  down,"  she  said,  "  and  we'll 
talk  and  pray  over  it." 

We  were  in  a  little  bare  room.  A  picture  of  the  Divine 
Master  praying  in  the  Garden  hung  on  the  whitewashed  wall. 
In  the  picture  the  face  was  lifted  to  heaven,  and  the  yearning 
look  in  the  eyes  moved  one  to  pity  for  a  love  that  could  so 
hunger  for  the  outcast  and  the  needy.  Captain  Molly  saw  me 
look  at  the  picture. 

"  Can  you  understand  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  think  so,"  I  answered  quietly.  "  It  seems  so  sorrowful 
that  so  many  human  creatures  should  be  wasted." 

She  came  and  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "  Come,  if 
you  feel  like  that." 

THE  WORST   STREET   IN   LONDON 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Captain  Molly,  as  we  walked  towards 
her  "  post "  some  days  afterwards,  both  of  us  wearing  the 
sombre  dress  of  the  "Soldiers  of  Salvation,"  "that  it  really  is 
the  worst  street  in  London ;  but  about  here,  the  police  and 
others  say  it  is,  and  I  don't  think  it  would  be  easy  to  beat  it 
anywhere." 

We  were  threading  our  way  through  crowds,  in  a  narrow 
street  flanked  by  barrows  and  coster-stalls.  I  noticed  the 
folk  made  way  for  us  as  we  went,  and  Captain  Molly  acknow- 
ledged all  courtesies  with  a  word  or  smile.  And  by-and-by 


<sm  ©utpost  Duts  239 

we  came  to  a  dingy  court  which  seemed  a  veritable  plague- 
spot — the  haunt,  as  I  afterwards  learnt,  of  thieves  and  bad 
characters.  And  this  was  Green  Arbour  Court.  Ye  Shades ! 
what  ft  place ! 

"And  why,"  I  asked  my  companion,  "do  they  call  it 
Green  Arbour  Court?" 

She  smiled  a  trifle  sadly. 

"The  authority  who  christened  it  must  have  been  an 
ironical  wag  and  named  it  for  its  oppositeness  to  its  title — or 
maybe,"  she  said  slowly,  "  once  it  was  green  and  good,  even 
here." 

One  might  imagine  the  place,  from  its  name,  a  spot  redolent 
of  flowers  and  melodious  with  song,  instead  of  being,  as  it  is, 
a  group  of  dirty,  dark,  insanitary  hovels,  where  the  death-rate 
is  four  times  as  high  as  any  street  in  its  immediate  neighbour- 
hood. A  slum  shunned  by  all  but  the  very  lowest ;  a  modern 
Alsatia;  a  close  borough  of  blackguardism,  visited  by  the 
police  only  at  rare  intervals,  and  then  only  in  couples. 
Practically  ignored  by  the  sanitary  authorities,  excepting  on 
the  occasion  when  the  fever  ambulance  takes  away  one  of  its 
inhabitants,  a  victim,  perhaps,  to  diphtheria  or  some  other 
infectious  horror,  born  in  the  vile  miasma  arising  from  its  filth 
and  uncleanliness. 

For  very  obvious  reasons,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do 
more  than  barely  indicate  the  exact  locality  of  this  wretched 
place. 

It  is  situated  in  the  east  of  London,  and  its  only  entrance 
leads  from  a  well-known  thoroughfare. 

It  was  on  a  humid  autumn  evening  that  I  first  entered  this 
narrow,  paved  court.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  entered  an  oven. 
The  sun  had  beaten  on  the  houses  all  day,  and  owing  to  the 
lack  of  ventilation  the  small  rooms  had  become  absolutely 
unbearable  to  the  inhabitants,  The  heat  had  driven  nearly 


«4o  TTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

every  inmate  of  the  houses  out  of  doors.  Those  who  were 
not  in  the  public-house  that  stood  on  one  side  of  the  entrance 
to  the  court  were  sitting  on  the  doorsteps  or  paving  in  front 
of  their  houses.  Quarrelsome,  hot,  dirty,  and  semi-naked 
children  were  crawling  about  or  sitting  on  the  hard  stones, 
and  every  corner  seemed  alive — so  much  so  that  I  feared  I 
would  have  to  step  on  someone  if  I  wished  to  pass  up  the 
court  at  all.  Little  wonder  that  the  place  echoed  with  bad 
language  and  words  not  of  the  gentlest. 

"  Do  you  really  live  here  ?  "  I  asked  of  Captain  Molly. 

u  Surely,"  she  said,  and  I  followed  her  obediently  up  the 
rickety  stairway  of  a  tenement  house.  At  the  third  storey  we 
halted  on  the  tiny  landing,  and  I  noticed  it  was  the  only  clean 
spot  we  had  passed  since  entering  the  court.  Captain  Molly 
took  out  a  key  from  her  pocket,  and  we  entered  her  "station." 

She  had  two  rooms  opening  into  each  other.  The  match- 
boarding  between  them  was  painted  a  pretty  green,  and  hung 
with  lovely  prints  m  reed  frames ;  I  noticed  they  were  fixed 
on  with  brass  nails. 

"  My  sister,  Mrs. ,  gave  those  to  me,"  said  Captain 

Molly,  mentioning  a  name  well  known  in  London  society. 

There  was  no  covering  on  the  floor  save  a  small  mat,  and 
it  was  enamelled  a  pretty  dark  brown;  the  chairs  were 
enamelled  in  green  to  match  the  partition,  and  the  table 
was  brown  like  the  floor.  There  was  a  big,  rough,  green 
jar  of  growing  ferns  in  the  window,  and  a  blackbird  in  a 
cage  hung  there  also.  We  went  into  the  little  bedroom.  It 
was  painted  in  dark  blue,  and  a  narrow  truckle  bed  and  one 
small  trunk  were  the  chief  bits  of  furniture.  Beside  a  tall, 
rush-bottomed  chair  was  a  tiny  slip  of  carpet.  A  little  table 
held  a  few  books,  and  on  the  wall,  above  a  small  shelf,  hung  a 
six-inch  looking-glass.  "Just  to  show  if  the  helmet's  on 
straight,"  laughed  Captain  Molly. 


On  ©utpost  smt£  »4i 

"  I  pay  six  shillings  a  week  for  this  place,"  said  Captain 
Molly,  "and  am  better  provided  with  room  than  any  of  my 
neighbours." 

The  remembrance  of  my  first  night  in  that  place  will  stay 
with  me  always.  We  went  out  to  a  meeting  that  evening,  and 
returned  eager  to  rest,  but  all  through  the  night  it  was  a 
pandemonium.  There  were  horrid  shouts  and  oaths,  and 
sometimes  a  woman'a  scream  and  the  cry  of  a  terrified  child 
broke  through  the  babel  of  noise.  About  three  o'clock  a 
knock  came  on  our  door.  Captain  Molly  got  up.  A  man 
stood  outside,  haggard  and  awful-looking.  "  My  gal's  dying 
out  there,"  he  said.  On  the  steps  of  one  of  the  houses, 
propped  against  the  wall,  sat  a  wasted  girl  panting  for  breath 
At  Captain  Molly's  command,  the  man  carried  her  up  to  our 
room.  We  laid  a  blanket  on  the  floor  and  bathed  her  face 
with  cold  water.  It  was  all  marred  and  disfigured  with  marks 
of  many  battles.  Once  she  spoke  in  broken  gasps  :  "  Git  'old 
o'  Tom  ;  'e  ain't  a  bad  lot."  The  man  heard  and  bent  down. 
The  girl  was  dead.  Remembering  her  words,  "Tom"  lei 
Captain  get  hold  of  him,  and  became  a  valued  helper  and 
guide. 

For  a  time  I  hung  on  to  Captain  Molly's  skirts,  till  gradually 
I  grew  more  familiar  with  the  place,  and  made  acquaintance 
with  some  of  our  neighbours. 

One  of  the  first  persons  I  came  to  know  in  the  house  was 
a  woman,  who,  with  several  other  persons  and  a  number 
of  children,  occupied  a  room  on  the  next  landing  to  ours. 
One  night  I  had  stumbled  over  her  in  the  dark,  when  she 
was  lying  in  a  drunken  sleep  on  the  stairs  near  our  room. 
At  first  I  thought  she  was  ill,  and  fetched  a  light  to  see  how 
I  could  help  her.  But  I  soon  discovered  that  she  was  insen- 
sibly drunk,  and  also  that  she  had  received  a  fall,  and  had 
badly  cut  her  forehead.  There  was  quite  a  pool  of  blood 


»4«  tlbe  Soul  /foarftet 

where  she  lay.  Making  a  bandage  by  tearing  up  one  of 
our  tow«ls,  I  first  bathed  and  then  bound  up  the  wound ; 
then  getting  assistance,  I  had  her  taken  to  her  room. 
Through  this  act  of  common  duty,  an  acquaintanceship 
sprang  up  between  us,  from  which  I  gathered  a  great  deal 
of  knowledge.  From  her  I  learned  much  of  the  habits  of 
our  neighbours.  Of  course  many  things  that  she  told  me 
would  be  utterly  impossible  to  relate,  and  can  only  here  be 
hinted  at.  From  her  I  learned  that  most  of  the  men  in  the 
house  were  "  hocks  "  or  "  dead  bents,"  as  she  called  common 
thieves.  Nearly  all  of  them  had  at  some  period  of  their  lives 
"done  time" — that  is,  been  in  prison.  Several  had  been 
"  bashed  "  ;  or,  in  other  words,  flogged  in  prison  for  the  crime 
of  "  robbery  with  violence." 

Crimes  of  the  very  worst  description  were  openly  and 
sympathetically  discussed,  and  one  cannot  help  wondering 
why  the  authorities  allow  such  a  hot-bed  of  sin  to  exist. 
That  they  know  of  its  existence  the  periodical  visits  of  the 
police  testify,  but  I  suppose  even  thieves  must  live  somewhere, 
and  perhaps  it  is  thought  best  that  they  should  congregate  in 
a  colony  where  they  can  be,  as  it  were,  under  the  eye  of  the 
police,  who  often  visited  this  locality  at  night,  in  order  to 
find,  if  possible,  some  notorious  criminal.  This  the  people 
themselves  call  "turning  them  over." 

Not  an  individual  in  the  place  appeared  to  earn  an  honest 
livelihood.  Boys  started  off  in  the  morning  in  gangs,  like 
wolves  in  search  of  prey.  Men  went  into  the  country  to  "  do 
jobs,"  which  did  not  mean,  as  one  might  be  led  to  believe, 
the  carrying  out  of  some  respectable  employment,  but  was 
the  term  applied  to  the  committing  of  some  well-planned 
crime,  generally  directed  by  one  of  the  "  heads,"  as  these 
master  -  criminals  are  called.  Young  and  old,  feeble  and 
strong,  all  were  engaged  in  crime.  The  tiniest  boys  and 


©It 

girls  crawled  into  shops  "after  the  box,"  as  they  called 
stealing  tills,  a  kind  of  robbery  inflicted  on  the  small  shop- 
keepers in  the  neighbourhood,  and  causing  them  much 
annoyance.  The  youths  and  young  women  infested  the 
dark  thoroughfares  on  the  look-out  for  helpless  women  or 
drunken  "mugs,"  as  they  called  their  victims,  in  order  to 
beat  and  rob  them,  while  the  greybeards  of  this  banditti 
planned  burglaries  and  crimes  of  a  more  daring  or  dastardly 
nature. 

It  was  in  this  neighbourhood  that  I  first  came  into  actual 
contact  with  people  who,  at  least  one  to  another,  openly 
admitted  that  they  were  thieves  and  vagabonds,  though  lateri 
in  company  with  a  friend,  I  made  a  closer  study  of  the 
criminal  class.  There  criminal  exploits  and  nefarious  projects 
were  discussed  as  calmly  and  quietly  as  my  more  respectable 
friends  discuss  their  daily  business.  As  may  be  imagined,  it 
required  a  good  deal  of  patience,  and  something  of  tact,  to 
gain  the  confidence  of  these  people,  and  Captain  Molly's 
friendship  for  me  was  a  guarantee  of  my  faith.  Then,  too, 
little  acts  of  common  charity — assistance  in  case  of  accident, 
advice  in  illness — all  these  things  helped  towards  establishing 
a  friendly  feeling. 

Honour  amongst  thieves  obtains  to  a  much  greater  extent 
than  one  would  suppose.  Low  as  these  people  are,  there  is  a 
viler  being — the  police-paid  spy — often  a  thief  himself,  who 
lives  with,  and  on,  his  companions  in  crime,  and  then  betrays 
them.  These  contemptible  "  mouchards "  are  known  as 
"copper's  narks."  They  are  not  officially  recognised,  of 
course,  but  they  are  great  factors  in  the  discovery  of  crime 
and  criminals,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of  law  and  order, 
must  be  considered  useful.  But  the  arm  of  the  law  is  not 
long  enough  to  reach  these  people  and  drag  them  into  re- 
spectability, nor  is  it  strong  enough  to  sweep  them  and  their 


Ube  Soul  /iDarfcet 

rat-holes  away,  and  force  them  to  decent  living.  It  is  the 
"  soldiers  "  on  outpost  duty  —  the  Slum  Sisters  —  who 
here  are  stronger  than  the  law,  and  are  instrumental  in 
winning  many  a  young  life  from  criminality. 

I  discovered,  while  here,  that  vile  and  cruel  as  many  of 
these  people  are,  there  are  some  sparks  of  humanity  in 
most  of  them,  and  I  cannot  believe  that  they  are  utterly  and 
wholly  lost.  I  truly  believe  that  if  some  method  could  be 
found  by  which  they  could  be  approached  in  a  common-sense 
and  kindly  fashion,  that  the  children,  at  least,  could  be 
educated  out  of  their  criminal  ways.  It  is  not  enough  that 
here  and  there  a  Slum  Sister  carries  the  torch  of  civilisation 
and  Christianity  among  them.  For  their  own  protection,  all 
decent  citizens  should  co-operate  to  demand  good  housing 
and  sanitary  laws  and  compulsory  work  for  able-bodied  men 
at  a  fair  living  wage.  This  could  be  done  by  forming  small 
committees  who  could  occupy  rooms  in  the  very  centres  of 
these  hot-beds  of  crime.  Much  good  and  useful  work  could 
be  done  from  these  centres  :  advice  in  time  of  need,  medical 
and  surgical  assistance,  organised  charity,  enforcement  of  the 
Public  Health  Acts,  and  a  hundred-and-one  other  useful  duties, 
which  would  be  sure  to  have  a  good  effect  on  the  lives  of 
the  people  watched  over. 

I  know  that  there  are  many  missions  doing  good  and  useful 
work  besides  the  Salvation  Army,  but  I  am  afraid  that  most 
of  the  effort  is  spent  upon  that  well-cared-for  class,  "the 
deserving  poor."  I  enter  a  plea  also  for  the  undeserving 
criminal;  and  the  class  of  work  should  be  extended  that  is 
done  by  the  Slum  Sisters  of  the  Salvation  Army  in  such  places 
as  I  have  described. 

The  Public  Health  (London)  Act  (54  and  55  Viet,  c.  76) 
inflicts  penalties  in  respect  of  having  premises  in  a  state 
dangerous  to  health,  also  in  the  matter  of  overcrowding. 


©n  ©utpost  2>ut£  245 

But  who  is  there  to  enforce  this  law?  In  Green  Arbour 
Court  no  sanitary  inspector  ever  came.  The  houses  were 
almost  all  owned  by  one  man — a  Jew — and  they  were  all 
"rack-rented."  In  the  one  next  to  ours  thirty  people  lived, 
and  the  aggregate  rent  for  the  house  amounted  to  about 
^"140.  Most  of  the  houses  had  no  street  doors,  and  the 
stairs  were  broken  and  unsafe,  and  many  a  piece  of  rope  took 
the  place  of  banisters  and  hand-rails. 

How  often  in  the  gathering  dark  Captain  Molly  would  go 
down  to  the  end  of  the  court  opposite  the  "  pub,"  and  there 
stand  with  her  face  upraised  and  sing  holy  words  that  seemed 
to  purify  the  tainted  air.  Once  a  girl  came  by,  and  acting  on 
some  strange,  vile  impulse,  threw  a  rotten  orange  at  the 
"  Captain."  It  struck  her  full  in  the  chest  and  spattered  over 
her  gown.  She  turned  to  the  girl  with  "  You  poor  child  ! " 

The  creature  yelled  out  "  God  blarst  yer ! "  and  rushed 
laughing  down  the  street.  The  meeting  went  on.  Captain 
Molly  spoke  wonderful  words  to  the  strange,  half-human 
creatures  round  her.  That  night  about  twelve  o'clock  there 
was  a  knocking  at  the  door.  Captain  Molly  opened  the  door, 
and  brought  in  the  girl  who  had  thrown  the  orange.  She  was 
covered  with  blood  and  dirt,  and  trembling  and  sobbing. 
After  a  while  we  learnt  her  trouble.  Her  "  bloke "  had 
"  bashed "  her  for  being  unsuccessful  in  picking  pockets  at 
the  train  terminus,  and  as  he  had  administered  his  chastise- 
ment in  public,  the  police  had  captured  him  and  walked  him 
off  for  trial.  He  had  split  open  one  policeman's  head,  so  his 
sentence  was  sure  to  be  a  severe  one.  Poor  "  Red  Meg,"  as 
the  girl  was  called,  was  in  great  distress.  In  her  sore  and 
forlorn  condition  she  came  to  Captain  Molly.  The  last  I 
heard  of  her  was  that  she  was  serving  in  a  country  shop  (boots 
and  shoes),  and  was  much  valued  by  her  employers.  She  was 
waiting  and  praying  for  a  "  change  of  heart  for  her  bloke," 


246  trbe  Soul 

and  divided  her  spare  pence  between  the  Salvation  Army 
Prison  Mission  and  a  little  hoard  she  was  gathering  to  make 
a  home  when  the  "  bloke  "  was  released.  Captain  Molly  will 
take  care  he  is  met  at  the  prison  gate  and  helped  to  a  new 
life  if  he  so  wishes. 

In  many  of  the  noisome  places  of  our  great  cities,  among 
the  slum-dwellers,  there  settle  these  devoted  "Slum  Sisters," 
living  generally  two  together.  We  may  never  read  the  record 
of  their  golden  deeds,  but  their  names  must  be  inscribed  in 
letters  of  gold  in  God's  Book  of  Life,  for  they  have  added 
many  souls  to  His  Kingdom. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOW  WE  ENCOURAGE  OUR  WORKING  POPULATION — DUST-HEAPS 
AS  "  ELIGIBLE  "  BUILDING  SITES — HANDICAPS  ON  BRITISH 
TRADE 

IT  was  after  many  evil  experiences  among  the  "homes"  of 
the  poor  that  I  turned  with  relief  to  a  neighbourhood  where 
I  expected  to  find  a  fair  ideal  of  working-class  homes,  and  I 
give  my  account  of  the  place  as  I  found  it. 

I  remember  once  at  a  matine'e  hearing  the  late  Dan  Leno 
descant  upon  the  text,  "Why  pay  rent?"  The  little  jester 
gave  very  excellent  reasons  for  doing  so,  the  chief  one  being 
that  you  paid  rent  because  you  could  not  help  it.  According 
to  the  advertisements,  however,  which  one  sees  in  the  daily 
papers,  one  might  purchase  an  "eligible"  house  in  an 
"  eligible "  locality  for  next  to  nothing,  and  furnish  it  on 
the  hire-purchase  system,  which,  according  to  the  ingenious 
advertisements,  is  the  cheapest  and  most  convenient  form  of 
purchase.  These  advertisements  always  have  a  certain 
attraction  for  me.  I  suppose  deep  in  every  human  heart 
lies  the  desire  to  possess,  and  the  possession  of  a  house  and 
land  appears  one  of  the  most  attractive  assets. 

I  have  followed,  for  many  years  now,  the  plans  of  the 
London  County  Council  for  the  improvement  or  betterment 
of  London,  and  it  is  because  of  the  interest  I  take  in  the 
welfare  of  the  working  classes  that  I  went  for  a  time  to  reside 
among  them  in  a  locality  which  was  advertised  as  containing 

247 


24«  Tlbc  Soul  fl&arftet 

"desirable  houses"  for  working  people.  A  friend  of  mine, 
whose  knowledge  of  the  world  is  somewhat  extensive,  said 
to  me,  in  reference  to  this  often-expressed  desire  of  mine  to 
possess  a  really  nice  and  comfortable  house :  "  There  are 
three  classes  of  people  whom  you  must  never  have  any 
dealings  with  unless  you  have  an  ardent  desire  to  be  cheated. 
These  three  classes  are — builders,  house-agents,  and  outside 
brokers  or  tipsters.  There  has  never  been  known,"  he  said, 
"an  honest  man  in  any  of  these  professions."  Without 
discussing  the  truth  or  falseness  of  this  assertion,  I  will  tell 
the  story  of  the  workman's  "  desirable  house "  where  I  lived 
for  some  little  time.  If  my  description  of  this  place  brings 
a  contradiction  from  any  member  of  the  London  County 
Council  or  any  person  engaged  in  the  building  trade,  I 
shall  be  charmed  to  conduct  him  personally  to  the  place 
described. 

Hollyhedge  Street  is  the  somewhat  rural  name  of  a  mean 
little  thoroughfare  in  one  of  the  new  districts  which  have 
sprung  up  with  fungus-like  rapidity  on  the  outskirts  of  South 
London.  This  street  is  the  most  perfect  example  I  know  of 
what  a  street  ought  not  to  be.  In  the  first  place,  the  site  of 
it  is  a  disused  dust-heap — the  dumping-ground  for  years  of 
the  contents  of  the  dust-holes  and  offal-pits  of  an  enormous 
parish.  After  its  capacity  as  a  dumping  -  ground  was  ex- 
hausted, and  before  the  advent  of  the  huge  board  which 
proclaimed  it  to  be  "  eligible  "  for  the  erection  of  small  villas, 
this  place  was  practically  a  plague  spot.  Huge  mounds  of 
festering  refuse,  and  pools  of  stagnant  water,  occupied  the 
position  where  now  "  desirable  "  villas  stand.  They  have  been 
erected  by  a  speculative  builder  who  has  bought  the  land,  and 
either  lets  or  sells  these  houses  one  by  one  as  he  puts  them  up. 
Of  course  he  would  never  dream  of  occupying  one  of  them 
himself.  He  is  a  gentleman  who  has  studied  sanitation  and 


t>ow  we  encourage  out  Worftino  {Population  249 

hygiene,  I  suppose,  and  all  the  kindred  subjects  which  go  to 
make  up  the  education  of  a  professional  builder.  Therefore, 
when  he  erected  these  jerry-built  places,  he  knew  what  he 
was  doing.  As  residences  suitable  for  decent,  honest  human 
beings  I  know  of  no  modern  houses  more  "  undesirable."  The 
workmen,  in  digging  out  the  trenches  for  the  flimsy  foundations 
these  houses  stand  upon,  had  often  to  suspend  their  work 
owing  to  the  stench  which  arose  when  the  outer  crust  of 
these  refuse  mounds  was  broken  or  disturbed.  Each  spade 
thrust  into  this  spot  brought  up  old  boots,  tin  cans,  decaying 
bones,  rotten  rags,  and  other  abominations.  Not  only  were 
these  houses  built  upon  this  reeking  soil,  but  for  the  sake  of 
the  ashes  it  contained,  it  was  sifted  and  made  into  mortar  and 
plaster.  The  walls  were  built  and  the  interior  of  the  houses 
daubed  with  the  germ-impregnated  mud.  The  bricks  which 
were  used  in  the  construction  of  these  villas  came  chiefly 
from  the  condemned  areas  of  the  London  County  Council. 
When  the  houses  in  these  districts  are  pulled  down,  the  old 
microbe-laden  bricks  are  carted  away  to  some  "desirable" 
site  in  some  newly-formed  district,  and  are  there  built  into  the 
walls  of  the  new  houses.  In  some  cases  whole  streets  are 
built  of  these  materials. 

It  was  in  a  house  built  in  just  this  manner,  in  one  of 
these  streets,  that  I  elected  to  take  up  my  residence  and  live 
as  nearly  as  possible  the  life  of  the  people  who  rush  to  this 
neighbourhood  in  the  vain  hope  of  securing  comfortable 
homes.  These  people  rent  and  occupy  the  houses,  in  some 
cases,  before  they  are  finished,  and  while  the  walls  are  actually 
wet  with  moisture  exuding  from  the  mortar  and  plaster.  The 
sanitary  authorities  do  not  permit  a  house  to  be  occupied  until 
the  drains  are  inspected  and  a  proper  supply  of  water  is  laid 
on.  But  to  these  excellent  regulations  might  be  added  a  rule 
against  the  occupying  of  newly-built  houses  before  they  are 


250  TTbe  Soul  flfearfeet 

dry.  As  it  is,  thoughtless  and  ignorant  people  rent  these 
places,  and  old  folks  and  children  are  put  to  sleep  in  damp 
and  badly-ventilated  rooms.  After  a  few  nights  in  such 
pestilent  holes,  they  wake  with  disease,  which  hastens  on  that 
sleep  from  which  there  is  no  waking.  The  fact  that  the 
doctor's  brougham  and  the  ambulance  of  the  Asylum's  Board 
were  constantly  in  the  street  where  I  lived,  points  only  too 
plainly  to  the  dangers  lurking  in  houses  built  upon  muck- 
heaps,  and  occupied  before  they  are  dry. 

My  neighbours,  as  I  got  to  know  them,  with  but  few  ex- 
ceptions were  of  that  quickly  disappearing  type  —  honest 
working  folks,  whose  wages  ranged  from  eighteen  shillings  to 
£2  a  week.  Many  of  these  people  worked  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  others  went  regularly  to  the  city  by  workmen's  trains  or 
trams.  Some  of  them  were  frugal  and  sober,  others  drank 
and  were  rather  thriftless,  though  none  of  them  belonged  to 
the  hopelessly  improvident  class.  I  found,  after  living  among 
these  people  and  visiting  them  pretty  frequently,  that  a  good 
indication  of  the  habits  and  industry  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
houses  could  be  gathered  from  the  way  in  which  the  tiny  front 
gardens  and  the  front  windows  were  kept.  In  some  cases 
the  little  slips  of  ground  before  the  villas  were  gay  with  bright 
flowers,  and  perhaps  a  miniature  lawn.  In  the  evenings  the 
owners  might  be  seen  busily  watering  the  plants,  mowing  the 
lawn  with  a  six-inch  machine,  and  otherwise  occupying  them- 
selves in  beautifying  and  improving  their  gardens.  Others  of 
the  front  yards,  however,  became  the  play-grounds  for  the  stray 
dogs  of  the  street,  or  the  receptacles  of  its  rubbish.  I  found 
it  was  not  always  the  gardens  of  the  better  paid  inhabitants 
that  looked  the  best.  The  house  belonging  to  the  postman, 
who  perhaps  had  the  most  responsible  position,  and  was 
probably  the  worst  paid  of  all  my  neighbours,  was  always  the 
brightest  and  neatest  in  the  street. 


ibow  we  encourage  our  TKHormtid  population  251 

As  it  was  with  the  gardens,  so  with  the  windows.  In  some 
were  displayed  hideous  vases  of  wax  fruit  and  flowers  under 
glass  shades,  which  stood  upon  the  Family  Bible,  which,  I  regret 
to  say,  was  seldom  used  except  as  a  stand — or  a  brass-bound 
album  of  family  photographs.  Other  windows  showed  not  a 
little  taste  in  the  selection  of  their  neat  curtains  and  the  colour 
and  drapery  of  their  blinds.  As  the  eyes  are  said  to  be  the 
windows  of  the  soul,  so  the  windows  of  the  working  people's 
cottages  often  proclaim  the  character  of  the  inhabitants.  It 
is  a  curious  thing  that  in  America,  which  we  fondly  regard  as 
a  crude  and  inartistic  country,  the  dwellings  of  the  working 
classes  are  often  extremely  beautiful,  and  are  generally  tastefully 
decorated.  I  was  much  struck,  during  the  many  visits  I  paid 
to  the  homes  of  mechanics  and  other  workmen  in  the  United 
States,  to  notice  that  the  papering  of  their  walls  was  almost 
always  carried  out  in  self-coloured  papers  of  really  artistic 
shades,  while  their  doors,  instead  of  being  painted,  were 
beautifully  polished.  I  found  that  the  workmen  themselves 
were  often  responsible  for  these  pleasant  attributes  of  the 
houses.  In  Hollyhedge  Street  I  went  to  live  with  a  young 
couple  who  had  been  married  but  a  short  time,  and  I  was  the 
lodger  they  took  in  to  make  ends  meet.  My  host  was  a 
journeyman  carpenter  and  joiner;  he  was,  I  think,  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  his  wife,  a  comely  little  woman, 
could  not  have  been  more  than  about  nineteen.  They  had, 
like  many  of  their  class,  married  without  saving  or  having  a 
home  prepared.  "We  just  married  and  chanced  it,"  my 
landlady  told  me.  Their  first  home  was  one  furnished  room, 
for  which  they  had  paid  seven  shillings  a  week.  The  man  was 
a  hard-working  young  fellow,  and,  I  believe,  a  good  craftsman, 
who  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  was  in  fairly  regular  work ;  in 
fact,  he  was  engaged  in  work  upon  the  houses  in  the  street  in 
which  we  lived.  The  wife  had  been  employed  in  a  local 


as*  TTbe  Soul  /IDarfeet 

florist's  shop  :  she  possessed  some  instincts  of  taste  and  refine- 
ment. The  husband  was  intelligent  and  very  much  interested 
in  politics,  and  was  a  member  of  a  Trades  Union.  I  mention 
these  facts  as  an  indication  of  the  character  of  the  people,  for 
I  want  to  show  that  it  was  not  for  want  of  good  behaviour,  or 
through  culpable  neglect,  that  they  suffered  the  pitiable 
misfortunes  which  later  befel  them. 

They  had  been  married  but  a  few  weeks  when  they  decided 
to  take  one  of  the  houses  in  this  street,  and  furnish  three 
rooms  upon  the  hire-purchase  system.  The  owner  of  the 
house  at  that  time  was  a  speculative  builder,  and  he  readily 
accepted  this  workman,  who  bore  a  good  character,  as  a  tenant. 
He  knew  also,  that  having  the  house  occupied  would  make  it 
easier  to  mortgage  it  or  sell  it  to  some  house  investor. 

The  rent  of  the  villa  was  thirteen  and  sixpence  a  week  ;  its 
accommodation  consisted  of  six  small  rooms,  one  of  which 
was  fitted  as  a  kitchen.  The  thirteen  and  sixpence  was  about 
one-third  of  the  young  man's  wages,  but  he  hoped  to  let  off 
three  of  his  rooms  for  seven  shillings,  thus  leaving  himself 
with  a  rental  of  six  and  sixpence  per  week.  With  this  end  in 
view  he  took  the  house,  and  I  became  the  tenant.  To 
furnish  his  three  rooms  he  had  gone  to  one  of  those  firms 
who  advertise  in  the  daily  papers  their  willingness  to  supply 
furniture  upon  what  they  are  pleased  to  term  the  "  easy  pay- 
ment" or  hire-purchase  system.  "You  get  married,  and  we 
will  do  the  rest,"  is  a  famous  formula  of  this  sort  of  advertise- 
ment The  young  couple,  after  anxious  comparison  of  different 
advertisements,  at  last  made  up  their  minds,  and  visited  the 
shop  of  a  firm  who  are,  if  one  may  believe  their  advertise- 
ments, pure  philanthropists,  with  an  ardent  desire  to  increase 
the  marriage  rate  and  help  penniless  lovers  to  tide  safely  over 
the  hidden  rocks  and  snags  of  a  moneyless  marriage.  At  the 
first  interview  my  friends  were  presented  with  a  form  to  fill 


f>ow  we  encourage  our  Worfttns  population  253 

up,  which  consisted  of  intimate  questions  which  would  convey 
as  much,  if  not  more  private  information  than  that  required 
by  the  Charity  Organisation  Society  from  a  would-be  recipient 
of  its  bounty.  After  much  perturbation,  the  form  was  duly 
filled  in  and  sent  off  to  the  furnishing  firm,  who  were  good 
enough  to  approve  of  and  accept  the  applicants,  and  forthwith 
acquainted  them  with  the  fact.  On  the  next  visit  to  the  shop 
these  young  people  were  asked  to  sign  an  agreement  wherein 
they  promised  to  pay  immediately  £2  ios.,  and  a  further  sum 
of  £i  a  month  until  the  sum  of  ^25  was  paid,  this  being  the 
price  of  certain  articles  of  furniture  which,  according  to  this 
agreement,  were  to  remain  the  property  of  the  vendors  until 
the  amount  of  ^25  had  been  paid  in  full.  The  agreement 
having  been  signed,  the  purchasers  proceeded  to  select 
furniture  from  the  stock  in  the  shop.  They  finally  got  a 
complete  collection  of  as  shoddy  and  flimsy  a  set  of  goods 
as  was  ever  turned  out  of  an  alien's  sweating  shop  in  the 
East  End.  The  furniture  was  sent  to  their  home,  and  for 
a  time  at  least,  the  varnish  and  paint  made  the  goods, 
though  very  rickety,  look  bright  and  clean,  and  the  heart 
of  the  neat  little  housewife  was  filled  with  pride  in  her  new 
possessions,  The  young  couple  were  delighted  to  have  at 
last  a  home  of  their  own.  Shortly,  the  veneer  on  the  top 
of  the  sideboard  rose  in  a  blister,  and  the  green  wood  that 
had  been  used  in  the  chest  of  drawers  warped  and  twisted 
to  such  an  extent,  that  the  drawers  became  very  difficult  to 
open,  and  the  handles  were  dragged  out  in  trying  to  accom- 
plish this  feat.  Then  again,  the  chairs  did  not  long  continue 
to  appear  the  safest  of  receptacles  for  the  human  body. 
They  looked  quite  nice  as  they  stood  against  the  wall, 
but  creaked  ominously  when  sat  upon.  I  made  a  mental 
valuation  of  the  furniture,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  thai 
^7  would  have  been  a  liberal  sum  to  pay  for  it.  Of  course 


254  TTbe  Soul  /l&arfeet 

I  did  not  live  in  this  house  for  the  whole  period  during  which 
the  occupants  paid  this  hire-purchase  money,  but  I  visited  the 
people  later  in  another  house,  and  heard  from  them  the  story 
of  their  undoing. 

For  ten  months  the  regular  payment  of  £i  each  month  was 
promptly  made.  Then  the  young  people  were  visited  by  a 
representative  from  the  furnishing  firm.  This  gentleman  was 
most  affable  and  obliging,  and  succeeded  in  persuading  these 
dupes  to  buy  a  small  cottage  piano,  for  which  they  entered  into 
a  new  contract  to  pay  ^24,  together  with  the  balance  still  due 
on  the  original  agreement.  They  were  now  indebted  to  the 
vendors  for  the  sum  of  £36.  Six  more  monthly  payments 
were  made,  then  a  calamity  overtook  them.  The  builder 
who  employed  the  young  man  sold  his  business,  and  this 
man,  together  with  several  of  the  other  workmen,  found 
themselves  out  of  work.  A  long  period  of  trouble  and  unem- 
ployment loomed  ahead.  It  was  winter,  and  week  after  week 
went  by,  and  miles  of  London  streets  were  traversed,  but  trade 
was  bad,  and  no  work  was  to  be  found.  The  little  sum  of 
money  that  had  been  saved  vanished  rapidly,  until  the  poor 
young  couple  were  absolutely  penniless.  Then  came  the 
baby.  Every  farthing  that  could  be  borrowed  or  raised  on 
their  small  personal  treasures  was  swallowed  up  in  this  new 
expense.  The  man  redoubled  his  search  for  employment. 
Every  morning  he  rose  at  five,  caught  the  first  workmen's 
train  to  the  city,  and  tramped  the  streets  till  the  evening. 
One  day  he  had  gone  off  as  usual  upon  his  hopeless  quest, 
when  a  van  drove  up  to  his  house.  From  it  four  men 
descended.  They  claimed  admittance,  and  the  leader  of  the 
party  read  to  the  frightened  woman  a  document  which  stated 
that  as  three  months'  instalment  of  the  furniture  hire  was  due, 
the  firm  had  decided  to  cancel  the  agreement.  They  promptly 
collected  all  the  furniture  and  departed  with  it.  When  the 


Ibow  we  encourage  our  "CDlorftina  population  «ss 

husband  returned,  he  found  an  empty  house.  So  completely 
had  the  work  been  done,  that  the  man  and  his  wife  and  their 
young  baby  had  to  sleep  upon  the  floor  of  their  bedroom. 
Every  stick  of  the  flimsy,  shoddy  rubbish,  for  the  hire  of 
which  they  had  paid  something  over  £20,  was  taken  away  by 
the  men,  who  paid  no  heed  to  the  distracted  pleadings  of  the 
woman. 

Only  a  few  months  ago,  a  case  of  almost  identically  the 
same  description  was  tried  in  the  public  courts.  In  this 
instance,  however,  the  tenants  were  not  defenceless  and 
ignorant  working  people,  and  the  firm  found  themselves 
obliged  to  pay  a  large  sum  to  the  woman  they  had  attempted 
to  rob. 

The  lives  of  the  people  in  Hollyhedge  Street  were  cursed 
by  many  evils,  which  resulted  not  only  from  the  insanitary 
spot  upon  which  their  dwellings  were  built — while  I  was  in 
Hollyhedge  Street,  three  of  the  babies  born  there  died — but 
from  those  pests  of  poorer  neighbourhoods  who  are  known  as 
tally-men.  As  soon  as  houses  in  the  street  were  occupied 
there  swept  down  upon  us  a  flock  of  human  vultures  eager  to 
obtain  as  much  money  as  they  could  possibly  screw  out  of  the 
people.  These  tally-men,  who  were  generally  either  Jews  or 
Scotsmen,  were  insurance  agents,  sewing-machine  agents, 
furniture-on-the-hire-system  agents,  and  so  forth.  All  had 
something  to  sell  on  the  easiest  possible  terms ;  in  fact,  one 
might  suppose,  taking  them  on  their  own  valuation,  that  they 
were  merely  stray  philanthropists,  wandering  about  the  world 
endeavouring  to  make  life  easier  for  those  less  fortunate  than 
themselves.  In  every  case,  however,  that  came  under  my 
own  personal  observation,  I  found  that  goods  sold  by  these 
people  had  been  purchased  by  my  neighbours  at  three  or  four 
times  their  value.  Here,  again,  one  sees  how  the  Registrar's 
Court  and  the  County  Court  are  made  the  debt  collectors  of 


»s«  tTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

the  firms  who  sent  out  these  men.  They  positively  insisted 
on  leaving  their  goods,  and  the  next  thing  their  victims  were 
aware  of  was  a  summons  from  the  Registrar's  or  County 
Court.  Quite  two-thirds  of  the  cases  heard  in  these  courts 
are  of  this  description. 

These  tally-men,  of  course,  are  only  visiting  afflictions,  but 
the  pawnshop  is  a  perpetual  curse.  At  the  end  of  our  street 
there  was  a  pawnshop.  Before  I  became  acquainted  with 
these  places,  a  friend  of  mine  who  used  to  pilot  me  about 
London  a  good  deal  had  a  joke  at  my  expense  to  the  effect 
that  she  could  never  get  me  past  a  pawnshop.  The  fact  of 
the  matter  was,  that  the  miscellaneous  collection  in  the 
windows  of  the  better  class  of  these  places  used  to  attract 
me  considerably.  I  did  not  at  first  even  know  they  were 
pawnshops,  but  having  a  fondness  for  old  things,  and  being 
lucky  enough  once  or  twice  to  pick  up  what  turned  out  to  be 
real  bargains  in  the  way  of  old  prints,  books,  and  china,  I 
often  stopped  to  look  in  at  the  window  where  I  saw  these 
articles  displayed  in  delightful  confusion.  My  acquaintance 
with  the  pawnshop  was  not  personal  until  I  began  to  know 
the  poor  intimately,  and  then,  as  one  thing  leads  to  another, 
by  several  strange  coincidences,  I  was  made  acquainted  with 
some  curious  tragedies  among  the  rich  and  smart  classes, 
some  of  the  scenes  of  which  were  played  in  what  practically 
was  a  pawnshop,  though  known  under  a  more  euphonious 
name  of  a  "jeweller's  exchange."  Like  all  shops  of  this  type, 
the  pawn  "  hole "  in  Hollyhedge  Street  possessed  two  depart- 
ments— one  for  selling  the  goods  exposed  in  its  window,  and 
another  which  was  reserved  for  the  pawning.  It  is  of  this 
latter  department  I  wish  to  write. 

As  I  desired  to  obtain  my  experience  at  first  hand,  I 
inquired  of  my  landlady  if  she  knew  of  a  friendly  neighbour 
in  our  street  who  would  accompany  me  to  the  pawnshop. 


f>ow  we  encourage  our  TKHorfefng  {Population  257 

"Why,  of  course  I  do,"  she  said.  "You  must  go  with 
Mrs.  Ceilings  of  No.  9." 

"  Why  Mrs.  Collings  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  she  is  the  leaver,"  she  answered. 

"  Tht  leaver  ?  "  I  said.     "  What  may  that  be  ?  " 

"Oh,  she's  the  agent-like.  She  goes  to  the  pawnshop 
with  other  people's  goods— people  who  do  not  care  to  go 
themselves — and  she  gets  the  best  price  she  can  for  them." 

"Do  the  people  hereabouts  employ  her  a  good  deal?"  I 
inquired. 

"Yes.  You  see,  she  is  able  to  get  more  from  the 
pawnbroker,  being  known  to  him,  and  then  it  saves  a  bit 
of  trouble." 

"  How  does  Mrs.  Collings  get  paid  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  commission,  my  dear." 

With  the  help  of  my  landlady  I  was  introduced  to  the 
"  leaver."  She  was  a  woman  of  the  frowsy,  untidy  type,  about 
middle  age,  and,  I  am  afraid,  spent  the  greater  part  of  her 
"leaving"  commission  on  gin.  She  knew  the  business  of 
everybody  in  the  street,  and  seemed  to  take  a  hand  in 
everything  that  happened,  from  births  to  funerals.  Weddings 
were  her  chief  delight.  Whether  she  was  a  widow  or  not,  I 
never  knew.  She  lived  in  the  most  untidy-looking  house  in 
the  street,  and  let  her  rooms  off  as  lodgings  for  single  men, 
who  all  appeared  to  be  of  the  bricklayer's  labourer  type. 

From  this  woman  I  obtained  a  great  deal  of  information 
concerning  the  seamy  side  of  poverty. 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  can  I  do  for  yer?"  she  inquired, 
after  she  had  been  brought  to  me  by  my  landlady. 

I  explained  that  I  wanted  h.r  to  take  me  to  the  pawnshop 
with  her,  to  raise  some  money  on  a  few  personal  articles. 

"Why,  o'  course,  my  dear,  I'll  do  anything  to  oblige.  I'm 
off  now  with  a  little  bundle  for  Mrs.  Watkins  of  No.  17." 

R 


258  tTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

I  accompanied  her.  On  the  way  to  the  pawnshop,  we 
had  to  pass  a  public-house,  and  Mrs.  Collings  suggested  that 
we  should  "take  a  little  drop,  just  to  liven  us  up,"  and 
appeared  quite  huffy  when  I  declined  to  follow  the  convivial 
suggestion. 

"Come  on,  then,"  she  cried,  and  without  another  word 
led  me  to  the  pawnshop.  She  did  not  enter  by  the  door 
leading  into  the  shop,  but  turned  up  an  entry  at  the  side, 
where  a  door  stood  open,  which  gave  entrance  to  a  dark 
passage.  From  out  of  this  passage  there  opened  a  number 
of  other  doors.  These  doors  were  the  entrances  to  a  number 
of  small  compartments  about  four  feet  square. 

My  companion  opened  one  door  after  another,  but  each 
compartment  was  crowded  with  as  many  women  and  girls  as 
could  squeeze  into  the  space.  At  last,  at  the  end  of  the 
passage,  she  discovered  a  compartment  in  which  there  were 
only  three  persons  standing.  Into  this  she  insinuated  herself, 
and  I  followed. 

In  front  of  this  compartment,  as  in  front  of  all  the  others, 
a  high  counter  stood,  and  behind  the  counter  were  three  or 
four  young  men  and  boys  busily  undoing  or  doing  up  parcels 
and  bundles  of  clothing,  boots,  and  linen  of  every  description. 
They  carried  on,  at  the  same  time,  a  familiar  conversation 
with  the  crowd  of  women  who  faced  them.  The  place  was 
stuffy  with  a  curious  smell  of  fusty  linen,  and  there  was  a 
general  air  of  mustiness  about  the  customers.  Many  of  the 
women  seemed  to  be  on  quite  friendly  terms  with  the  young 
men  behind  the  counter,  and  a  continual  fire  of  chaff  and 
raillery  was  kept  up  between  them. 

"Now  then,  Mrs.  Collings,  what  'ave  yer  got  'ere?"  one 
of  the  young  men  said,  as  he  seized  my  companion's  bundle 
and  proceeded  to  undo  it  and  turn  out  the  linen  it  contained 
upon  the  counter. 


«ow  we  encourage  our  Morfcino  population  259 

"  Half-a-crown,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Collings  answered. 

"Can't  be  did,  sweetheart,"  the  youth  answered,  as  he 
started  to  fold  up  the  bundle  again.  "Make  it  two 
shillings,  'Erbert."  This  last  remark  to  a  small  boy  who 
was  busy  writing  out  the  particulars  of  the  transaction  upon 
the  pawn  tickets. 

"No,  Charley;  'arf-a-crown — there's  a  dear.  Make  it  'arf- 
a-crown,  do,  and  you  shall  come  to  tea  on  Sunday." 

"  Two  shillings  I'm  making  it,  and  I'm  coming  to  dinner, 
fair  one."  The  young  man  turned  to  another  customer. 

"  He's  a  one-er,  ain't  he  ? "  said  one  of  the  women  in  the 
box  in  a  tone  of  admiration. 

Mrs.  Collings  picked  up  the  money  and  the  ticket  which 
had  been  tendered  to  her  by  the  boy,  and  we  left  the  place, 
as  I  had  whispered  to  her  previously  that  I  had  found  half- 
a-crown  and  wouldn't  pawn  my  things  till  some  other  day. 

The  pawnshop  occupies  a  most  important  place  in  the  lives 
of  the  poor.  It  is  their  bank.  Every  Monday  morning  these 
places  are  crowded  with  women  pawning  the  Sunday  clothes 
of  their  husbands  and  children  for  a  few  shillings.  Every 
Saturday  these  clothes  are  redeemed. 

Although  the  law  only  allows  the  pawnbroker  to  charge 
i2\  per  cent,  per  annum  upon  the  loans  he  advances,  yet  he 
manages,  by  a  number  of  other  charges,  such  as  a  halfpenny 
for  the  ticket,  or  a  penny  for  the  accommodation  of  a  drawer, 
or  for  the  privilege  of  having  a  garment  hung  up,  and  so  on, 
to  make  up  his  profit  to  a  couple  of  hundred  per  cent. 

During  my  many  adventures  among  the  poor  and  working 
classes,  and  indeed  in  ordinary  life,  I  have  come  to  learn  that 
the  alien  furniture-dealers  and  traders  of  that  bastard  descrip- 
tion look  upon  our  County  Court  merely  as  an  institution  for 
their  convenience,  and  it  has  come  to  be  an  accepted  fact  that 
they  use  the  County  Court  as  their  debt  collectors.  They 


«6o  zrbe  Soul  fl&arfcet 

have,  of  course,  to  pay  no  fee  as  they  would  to  a  man  who  is 
a  professional  debt  collector,  and  there  are  such  people 
about.  All  they  do,  if  they  meet  with  a  refractory  customer 
who  objects  to  being  plundered  in  this  wholesale  manner,  is 
simply  to  put  the  case  into  the  County  Court,  and  they  are 
immediately  granted  an  injunction  for  the  recovery  of  their 
property,  and  they  find  their  debt  collected  for  them  without 
further  trouble  on  their  part.  Perhaps  if  a  few  ratepayers, 
whose  money  goes  towards  the  up-keep  of  the  police  and 
judicial  forces,  took  this  matter  in  hand,  and  begged  for  some 
inquiry  to  be  made  into  the  number  of  cases  in  which  the 
County  Court  is  used  by  alien  traders  who  rob  the  inhabitants 
of  our  towns,  some  check  might  be  put  on  this  disastrous 
business.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  policy  that  Britain 
pursues  in  regard  to  her  commerce ;  considering  that  honest 
trade  is  the  whole  foundation  upon  which  her  prosperity  has 
been  built  up,  and  that  her  commerce  is  her  strength  and 
stay,  the  treatment  that  commercial  matters  receive  from  the 
hands  of  the  Government  and  the  extraordinary  position 
which  "society"  takes  with  regard  to  people  in  trade,  is 
incomprehensible.  An  American  grocer's  wife,  who  leaves 
her  husband  and  all  her  household  duties  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  comes  over  to  England  with  large  sums  of  money, 
takes  a  house  in  Piccadilly,  which  her]  husband  probably  buys 
for  her,  pays  large  amounts  to  two  or  three  society  ladies,  and 
is  forthwith  presented  at  Court,  and  introduced  and  heralded 
as  a  most  desirable  addition  to  the  English  social  circles. 

An  English  grocer's  wife,  with  ambition  burning  in  her 
breast  to  make  herself  one  with  those  far-off  social  stars, 
enters  into  competition  with  our  fair  American  friend.  What 
is  the  result?  The  poor,  homely,  good-natured,  plebeian 
Englishwoman  is  scouted  and  rejected,  unless  indeed  she  be 
a  multi-millionaire.  She  finds  that  few  people  of  the  really 


f)o w  we  encourage  out  Working  population  261 

smart  set  will  care  to  eat  her  dinners  and  drink  her  wines. 
These  people  are  satiated  with  the  dinners  and  wines  provided 
free  by  those  who  are  anxious  to  buy  their  way  into  this 
circle.  Poor  John  Bull,  with  his  uncertain  h's  and  his 
nervous  "  my  lady's  "  flung  desperately  at  the  head  of  any 
titled  dame  he  is  brought  into  contact  with,  is  effectually 
snubbed  and  pushed  out  of  the  way.  The  Yankee  lady  sails 
happily  forth  to  social  distinction  while  the  other  drops  out, 
bruised  and  disillusioned.  I  suppose  the  reason  is  that  the 
Yankee  grocer  is  too  far  away  to  be  offensive,  whereas  one 
never  knows  that  one  may  not  meet  the  English  one  in  one's 
shopping  expeditions,  and  be  greeted  familiarly  from  over  the 
counter. 

In  the  same  way  the  Government  treats  the  British  trader. 
In  such  foreign  ports  as  Bombay,  and  in  all  the  ports  of  the 
East  India  stations  and  our  colonies,  all  British  commercial 
ships  are  allowed  to  load  only  up  to  what  is  called  the 
"  Plimsoll  Mark."  This,  of  course,  is  an  exceedingly  wise  and 
necessary  regulation ;  but  look  for  the  moment  at  the  other  side 
of  the  question.  There  are  two  ships  in  dock  at  the  Bombay 
harbour.  One  is  a  German  vessel  and  one  a  British;  say 
they  are  both  trading  between  Bombay  and  Zanzibar,  carrying 
cotton,  rice,  and  such  other  commodities  as  the  commerce 
demands.  The  tonnage  of  the  British  vessel  is  strictly  limited. 
The  tonnage  of  the  German  vessel  is  limited,  not  by  any 
regulations  with  regard  to  the  safety  of  the  lives  of  her  crew, 
but  simply  according  to  the  space  that  is  contained  within  her 
planks,  every  inch  of  which  is  packed  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
What  happens  as  the  result  of  this  wise  British  protection  of 
the  lives  of  her  people?  A  few  dozen  of  her  traders  are 
annually  ruined,  and  the  commerce  that  once  belonged  to 
Britain  is  gradually  niched  from  her  by  the  Germans  who  coal 
and  load  up  their  vessels  in  British  ports  without  being  subject 


262  TTbe  Soul  flDarfeet 

to  all  the  shipping  regulations  of  the  British  Government.  In 
another  couple  of  years,  ladies  may  look  forward  to  paying 
larger  prices  for  Persian  wool  goods  and  Persian  lamb  furs. 
Householders  who  wish  to  cover  their  floors  with  Persian 
carpets,  or  decorate  their  walls  with  Eastern  tapestries,  will 
find  the  prices  raised  20  or  30  per  cent.  Perfumers  who 
deal  in  Persian  or  Turkish  essential  oils,  such  as  oil  of 
roses  and  other  perfumes,  will  find  that  they  have  to  pay  a 
larger  price  for  their  goods,  but  they  will  probably  find  no  key 
to  this  mystery.  There  will  also  be  many  families  connected 
with  Eastern  trade  in  this  kingdom  made  considerably  poorer, 
and  openings  in  the  East  for  the  sons  of  Britishers  will  become 
perceptibly  fewer.  Why  should  these  things  be?  For  the 
simple  reason  that  lines  of  German  Government  subsidised 
ships  owned  by  German  companies,  in  which  the  Kaiser 
himself  is  said  to  have  large  interests,  are  now  entering  into 
unfair  competition  with  British  vessels.  These  vessels  ply  in 
Eastern  waters,  and  up  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  because  they 
are  allowed  to  leave  British  ports  with  far  heavier  freights 
than  British  steamers,  and  because  the  German  traders  will 
allow  the  natives  longer  credit,  and  be  content  to  trade  for 
very  small  profits,  or  even  loss  at  first,  being  subsidised  by 
their  Government,  they  will,  with  octopus-like  tenacity,  enfold 
in  their  greedy  grip  all,  or  most  of  the  trade  that  lies  in  these 
waters, 

German  clerks,  German  tailors,  and  German  shop-keepers 
of  all  descriptions  will  go  out  on  these  vessels,  paying  in- 
credibly small  fares,  and  take  up  positions  in  India  and 
Persia  at  salaries  upon  which  no  Englishman  could  live. 

The  marriage  market  is  in  a  bad  enough  condition  in 
England  now,  but  there  has  always  been  a  fair  horizon  in  the 
East.  Many  and  many  a  young  girl  has  found  a  home  and  a 
husband  abroad  who  never  would  have  done  so  here.  But  in 


ibow  we  encourage  our  Morfetn0  population  263 

a  few  years  this  outlet  for  feminine  ambition  will  also  be  closed, 
for  the  young  men  will  no  longer  be  able  to  obtain  these  well- 
paid  clerkships  or  positions  in  the  large  shops ;  their  places 
will  be  taken  by  cheap  foreigners.  Looking  at  the  matter  in 
this  way,  it  is  one  which  concerns  very  closely,  not  only  the 
British  male,  but  also  the  girls  and  women  in  this  country. 
We  are  not  content  with  encouraging  the  aliens  to  overflow 
the  British  Isles  ;  but  we  help  them  to  crowd  out  our  people 
even  in  our  foreign  possessions  and  trading  ports. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   EDGE   OF  THE   STREET — PESTILENT   SHELTER 

BRITISH  commerce  filters  through  all  grades  of  society,  and 
I  am  able  to  give  some  homely  examples  of  trade  within  our 
own  borders,  which  may  prove  unfamiliar  to  many  whom  the 
larger  matters  of  commerce  interest  considerably. 

It  was  some  little  time  after  I  had  started  my  journeys  into 
Poverty  Kingdom  that  I  became  acquainted  with  several  of 
the  "gutter  merchants"  who  advance  the  commerce  of  our 
cities. 

These  curious  creatures  are  familiar  sights  in  almost  every 
large  town  in  the  kingdom,  and  they  are  strangely  alike  in 
general  appearance.  The  same  musty,  lack-life  figures,  the 
limp,  "asking"  hand,  and  the  common  air  of  expectancy, 
mark  the  street  hawkers. 

I  myself  learnt  to  my  cost  that  the  fortunes  made  by  these 
street  merchants  exist  only  in  the  imaginations  of  those 
"students  of  humanity"  whom  Providence  has  blest  with 
liberal  optimism  in  dealing  with  facts. 

I  have  been  a  street  pedlar,  studying  the  life  in  several 
different  localities,  and  when  I  came  to  look  at  my  bank- 
book after  the  experiment,  I  found  that  a  few  days  of  this 
commercial  speculation  had  been  in  a  small  way  as  dis- 
astrous as  the  Stock  Exchange  to  a  novice.  The  number 
of  unsuccessful  traders  is  great.  Once  in  a  fried  fish  shop, 
with  Mr.  C.  and  two  women  and  a  man  "  in  the  trade  "  with 

264 


3E&QC  of  tbe  Street  265 

whom  we  had  made  friends,  I  heard  the  marvellous  story 
of  a  man  who  had  made  ^3  one  never-to-be-forgotten 
day,  by  selling  an  article  known  as  the  "  Fifteen  Puzzle "  in 
Fleet  Street;  and  of  another  who  has  made  £1  a  day 
for  three  weeks  by  selling  a  mechanical  toy.  The  men  hold 
almost  a  monopoly  of  such  quick-selling  novelties  as  these. 

At  this  party  I  also  learnt  another  secret  of  the  pedlars' 
trade,  and  that  is,  that  a  "  pitch  "  near  the  Stock  Exchange  is 
best  for  selling  mechanical  toys.  "  The  gents  tike  'em  'ome 
fur  the  kids  to  '  'ome  sweet  'ome, ' "  said  the  man,  who  was 
dedicating  his  knowledge  to  us  at  the  feast  for  which  we  paid. 

The  friend  who  initiated  me  into  the  mysteries  of  this 
peculiar  branch  of  trade  was  a  woman  I  got  acquainted  with 
one  night  on  the  steps  near  Waterloo  Bridge.  She  had 
drawn  a  blank  day :  it  was  raining,  and  she  had  no  money  to 
buy  a  shelter  or  food.  Her  miserable  stock  was  sodden  and 
useless.  Mr.  C.,  the  friend  who  accompanied  me  on  nearly 
all  my  wanderings  in  London,  was  with  me  at  the  time,  and  I 
told  her  that  he  would  give  me  some  money  if  we  could  set 
up  somewhere  as  pedlars,  and  I  promised  her  a  share  of  the 
takings  if  she  would  let  me  go  along  in  her  company.  She 
was  too  worn-out  and  subdued  to  make  terms,  and  the 
prospect  of  a  meal  and  shelter  from  the  rain  was  enough  for 
her.  She  was  very  sympathetic  as  regards  Mr.  C.,  whom  she 
judged  was  the  usual  specimen  of  a  hulking  loafer  ready  to 
live  on  his  poor  wife's  earnings. 

We  sent  the  old  woman  off  with  a  shilling  and  prospective 
appointment  for  next  day. 

Before  I  started  out  to  meet  her,  I  had  to  rearrange  my 
costume.  It  is  hardly  credible  how  difficult  it  is  to  dress  the 
part  to  the  life  when  one  is  actually  living  with  the  people  one 
wishes  to  be  taken  for. 

I  had  to  supply  myself  with  the  "  duds  "  for  street  peddling. 


266  ube  Soul  /toarfeet 

The  skirt  I  wore  cost  elevenpence,  the  inevitable  black  hat 
was  rusty  and  crushed,  and  the  shoulder-cape  bought  from 
a  "  step-girl "  made  up  my  costume.  When  I  met  the  old 
woman  in  the  morning,  she  greeted  me  with : 

"  You'll  have  to  get  a  brief,  my  dear." 

"A  brief?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  a  license." 

"  And  where  shall  I  get  one  ?  " 

"  Police  station  near  where  you  live." 

Accordingly,  we  presented  ourselves  at  a  West  End  police 
station.  Paying  the  sum  of  five  shillings,  I  was  given  a  form 
to  fill  up,  naming  a  reference  to  my  character.  One  of  the 
questions  asked  me  by  the  inspector  in  charge  was  :  "  Have 
you  ever  been  in  prison  ?  " 

I  am  getting  used  to  this  inquiry,  as  it  was  one  I  had  to 
answer  when  travelling  to  America  the  previous  year  in  a  first 
saloon. 

A  license  was  given  to  me  without  further  difficulty. 

My  friend  and  I  started  off  to  a  small  shop  in  a  court 
leading  from  the  Strand,  where  I  was  to  buy  my  swag,  as  the 
stock-in-trade  of  pedlars  is  invariably  called.  There  are  two 
or  three  shops  devoted  to  the  business  in  this  neighbourhood. 
These  supply  the  pedlars  of  the  West  End  with  their  goods. 
The  East  End  street  sellers  obtain  their  fancy  articles  chiefly 
from  Houndsditch.  Once  I  bought  my  stock  there  from  a 
Polish  Jew,  and  at  another  time  from  a  squint-eyed  German 
Jew. 

"  We'll  pitch  in  Fleet  Street,"  my  companion  said,  after  we 
had  bought  our  trayful  of  wares  from  the  buxom  lady  who 
smoked  a  pipe  and  held  sway  in  the  little  swag  shop  off  the 
Strand ;  and  within  an  hour  we  had  there  taken  up  a  position 
in  the  gutter. 

Diligently  I  tried  to  impress  uninterested  passers-by  with 


TTbe  E&0e  of  tbe  Street  267 

the  beauty  and  utility  of  my  wares.  For  several  hours  I 
endeavoured  to  sell  laces  and  matches,  but  I  scarcely  got 
so  much  as  a  look  at  my  tray.  At  last  a  small  boy  bought 
a  box  of  matches,  and  soon  after  a  workman  bought  a  pair 
of  laces.  An  hour  or  so  after  this  rush  of  business,  a  well- 
dressed  woman  wanted  me  to  sell  her  two  pairs  of  laces  for 
one  penny. 

My  price  was  one  penny  a  pair. 

She  refused  to  pay  me  this  sum,  and  went  off,  declaring 
that  she  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 

It  was  now  getting  dusk.  I  felt  tired  and  hungry.  My 
takings  during  a  long  afternoon  amounted  to  i£d.,  or  fd. 
profit. 

My  companion  had  not  done  much  better ;  she  had  taken 
fourpence  for  her  day's  work. 

She  told  me,  in  answer  to  my  inquiries  as  to  where  she 
intended  sleeping,  that  she  would  go  to  Hanbury  Street, 
Whitechapel,  where  the  Salvation  Army  have  a  shelter  for 
women.  I  asked  her  if  she  would  mind  me  going  with  her. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  she  replied.  "  You'll  have  to  pay 
tuppence  for  yer  lay  down,  but  it  is  as  comferable  a  place  for 
the  money  as  you'll  find  all  over  London." 

It  is  a  long  walk  from  Fleet  Street  to  Whitechapel,  and  by 
the  time  I  arrived  there  I  was  very  tired. 

Hanbury  Street  is  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Jews'  quarter. 
Like  most  of  the  Salvation  Army  institutions,  its  exterior  is 
not  imposing.  When  we  arrived,  gathered  round  a  narrow 
door  were  a  number  of  women  of  the  homeless  class. 

The  majority  of  them  were  old.  Some  had  bundles,  all 
were  ragged,  and  some  were  almost  bootless. 

A  few  minutes  after  I  joined  them  the  door  was  opened  by 
a  sturdy,  sweet-faced  girl  of  twenty,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Salvation  Army.  Without  speaking,  she  held  out  her  hand, 


268  trbe  Soul  fl&arftet 

and  one  by  one  the  homeless  women  dropped  twopence  into 
her  open  palm,  and  passed  in  through  the  doorway. 

Following  their  example,  I  also  tendered  my  money,  and 
passed  into  a  long  hall — clean,  and  not  without  some  effort  at 
artistic  decoration.  In  the  centre  of  the  hall  burned  a  bright 
fire,  which  lent  an  air  of  cheerfulness  and  even  welcome  to 
the  place. 

Still  following  the  lead  of  my  companions,  I  purchased  at 
a  bar  in  the  passage  a  mug  of  tea  and  a  large  piece  of  bread 
and  jam,  for  which  I  had  to  pay  one  penny.  I  carried  my 
bread  and  tea  into  a  spacious  room  in  which  were  ranged  a 
number  of  backed  seats,  facing  a  platform.  Several  Salvation 
Army  officials  were  present  in  the  room. 

Seating  myself,  I  ate  my  bread  and  jam  and  drank  my  tea 
— both  of  which  were  really  good.  Before  my  meal  was 
finished  a  lady,  clad  in  the  familiar  red  and  blue  of  the 
"Army,"  mounted  the  platform  and  commenced  a  service. 
Hymns  were  sung  and  prayers  offered,  and  an  earnest  address 
delivered. 

A  remarkable  feature  of  this  place  was,  that  as  soon  as 
the  women  got  inside,  they  brightened  up  and  became  quite 
cheerful.  They  seemed  quite  at  home,  and  the  Salvation 
Army  lasses  were  sympathetic  and  homely. 

After  the  service  we  were  allowed  to  go  to  bed.  The  bed- 
room had  evidently  been  at  some  period  a  chapel.  At  one 
end  was  a  platform,  and  on  either  side  were  galleries.  On  the 
floor  were  ranged  a  number  of  oblong  boxes,  the  sides  of 
which  are  about  twelve  inches  high.  Inside  these  boxes  are 
mattresses  of  American  leather  stuffed  with  seaweed.  Another 
leather  is  used  for  covering.  Many  of  the  lodgers  bring 
bundles  of  old  newspapers  and  news'  placards  which  they 
use  for  pillows  and  additional  covering. 

The  place  was  scrupulously  clean,  and  I  passed  a  very  good 


TTbe  Efcge  of  tbe  Street  «69 

night.  This  perhaps  because  I  was  so  tired.  In  the  morning 
I  had  breakfast,  which  cost  me  another  penny,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  made  my  way  westwards  again,  this  time  alone. 

I  took  my  stand  next  to  a  woman  whom  I  had  often 
noticed  standing  near  the  Savoy  Hotel  in  the  Strand.  In  her 
arms  she  carried  a  baby,  and  by  her  side  was  a  little  boy. 
She  offered  matches  to  the  passers-by  with  a  very  woeful  look 
indeed. 

I  noticed  that  several  people  gave  her  money  and  refused 
to  take  her  wares.  After  some  little  time  I  entered  into 
conversation  with  her,  and  she  confided  to  me  that  match- 
peddling  was  no  good  unless  you  had  a  baby.  She  also  told 
me  that  the  baby  in  her  arms  was  not  her  own,  but  one 
that  she  got  twopence  a  day  for  minding  while  its  mother 
worked  in  a  laundry.  Thus  the  baby  brought  in  money 
in  two  ways.  I  asked  her  if  I  could  get  a  baby  any- 
where. 

She  told  me  then  that  a  regular  trade  was  done  in  hired 
babies,  and  that  if  you  got  the  right  sort  it  paid  very  well  to 
have  a  baby — "  But  they're  a  job  to  carry,  my  dear,"  she  said. 
However,  she  promised  to  find  a  baby  by  next  day  that  I 
could  hire. 

My  takings  amounted  to  sixpence  that  day,  but  the  woman 
with  the  babies  took  one  shilling  and  ninepence,  thus  proving 
clearly  that  these  poor  mites  do  create  sympathy  and  increase 
the  profits  of  those  who  have  them. 

There  is  not  enough  positive  cruelty  to  these  little  ones  to 
warrant  the  interference  of  the  Society  for  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Children,  but  it  requires  little  imagination  to  realise 
how  ruinous  it  is  to  their  health. 

These  babies  are  held  for  hours  in  the  same  position, 
exposed  to  every  kind  of  weather,  their  food  is  irregular  and 
quite  unsuitable. 


270  'Ebe  Soul  /iDstrfcet 

Many  of  the  little  ones  pine  and  die,  yet  neither  the 
mothers  nor  the  hirers  know  why. 

I  hired  my  baby  for  sixpence  from  a  woman  in  a  street  off 
the  Fulham  Road.  The  little  thing  was  quite  a  professional, 
and  I  must  submit  in  favour  of  the  mother,  that  she  was  a 
working  woman  who  had  to  leave  her  little  children  while  she 
was  at  work,  and  that  she  was  earnest  in  her  demand  that  I 
should  look  after  her  little  one  and  keep  it  warm. 

I  had  it  long  enough  to  prove  that  a  baby  is  a  valuable 
adjunct  for  a  street  pedlar.  I  took  two  shillings  the  first  two 
hours  I  had  it.  I  could  not  bear  to  keep  the  mite  out  longer. 
It  is  a  cruel  practice.  The  whole  life  of  the  children  of  the 
vagabond  class  is  cruel  enough.  No  one  who  is  not  familiar 
with  their  surroundings  can  realise  how  grave  a  danger  to  the 
State  are  these  children  bred  in  crime  and  degradation  who 
are  growing  up  to  infest  our  cities. 

I  was  very  much  impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  women 
street  pedlars  I  had  talked  to  had  none  of  them  any  fixed 
abode.  Later,  I  learned  that  as  a  class,  the  street  pedlars 
frequent  philanthropic  shelters  and  common  lodging-houses, 
and  thus  save  a  strain  on  their  uncertain  earnings  that  regular 
room  rent  would  be.  I  asked  the  woman  with  the  baby 
where  she  was  going  to  sleep,  and  she  told  me  at  No.  — , 
a  lodging-house  for  women  in  Kensington  Street.  It  seemed 
so  far  off  that  I  suggested  Westminster.  My  companion 
told  me  that  she  would  sooner  walk  the  streets  all  night  than 
sleep  in  one  of  them  Westminster  "  kip  "  houses. 

«  Why  ?  "  I  had  asked. 

"They  ain't  decent,"  she  answered;  "and  them  as  go  there 
would  rob  you  of  your  shoe-strings  if  you  gave  'em  a 
chance." 

"  Surely  they  will  not  rob  one  of  their  own  class  ?  " 

"  Class,  my  gal,  the  likes  of  them  ain't  no  class." 


TTbe  Eoge  of  tfoe  Street  271 

This  description  only  interested  me,  and  disregarding  the 
advice,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  explore  one  of  these  undesir- 
able doss-houses.  When  the  sun  had  set,  I  bade  good-bye 
to  the  baby-minder,  and  reminded  her  of  her  promise  to  find 
someone  to  lend  me  a  baby. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  venerable  Abbey  there  are  a 
number  of  mean  streets.  There  I  intended  to  search  until 
I  found  a  suitable  lodging-house  wherein  to  investigate. 

Centuries  have  passed  since  this  neighbourhood  offered 
shelter  and  immunity  from  arrest  to  cut-throats,  thieves,  and 
vagabonds.  Here  was  situated  the  Abbey  Sanctuary.  Times 
have  changed :  brick  boxes  with  slate  lids  have  taken  the  place 
of  the  old  timber-built  dens  that  once  stood  here,  but  the 
general  bad  character  of  the  inhabitants  still  remains. 

Some  of  the  worst  people  in  London  may  be  met  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  St.  Stephen's. 

"  Beds,  fourpence  a  night."  This,  painted  on  the  side  of  a 
lamp  fixed  over  a  dingy  doorway,  led  me  to  believe  that  here 
I  should  find  the  lodging  I  was  looking  for.  On  the  steps 
were  three  or  four  women,  bareheaded  and  blasphemous. 
One  woman  carried  a  tin  beer-can;  the  other  three  carried 
babies — poor  little,  ill-clad,  ill-fed,  white-faced  mites.  While 
I  hesitated  to  enter,  the  woman  with  the  beer-can  actually 
put  the  vessel  to  a  baby's  lips  and  let  it  drink.  Somehow,  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  enter  here,  and  after 
meeting  Mr.  C,  I  went  on  to  another  lodging-house  in 
the  district. 

These  common  lodging-houses  seem  always  to  be  placed 
in  one  particular  street  in  the  neighbourhood  where  they 
exist.  It  is  quite  a  rare  occurrence  to  find  a  solitary 
lodging-house  in  one  street  and  another  a  few  streets  off. 
The  "business"  seems  best  run  in  company. 

The  one  we  selected  was  in  a  mean   street  thick  with 


272  Cbe  Soul  /IDarftet 

garbage.  There  was  a  public-house  at  one  end,  and  throngi 
of  evil-looking  men  and  women  passed  in  and  out  of  the 
doors.  The  lodging-house  we  sought  was  one  that  gave 
accommodation  to  both  men  and  women,  and  there  were 
some  dreadful  specimens  of  the  "  gentler "  sex  gathered 
round  the  door.  My  experience  is,  that  when  women  are 
degraded  and  brutalised,  they  are  even  more  horrible  than 
men  of  the  same  class.  Mr.  C.  and  I  went  in  together, 
pushing  past  the  filthy  crowd  at  the  entrance  which  was 
common  to  all  the  lodgers. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  badly-lighted  hall,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  a  staircase  leading  down  to  some  mysterious 
region  below,  from  where  rose  an  evil-smelling  stream  of 
hot,  bad  air,  and  such  a  babble  of  bad  language,  that  for 
a  moment  my  courage  failed,  and  I  nearly  turned  and  fled. 
At  last,  mastering  my  fear  and  disgust,  I  descended  the 
remaining  steps,  with  Mr.  C.  close  behind  me,  and  we 
passed  into  a  long,  double  room  filled  with  smoke. 

Numbers  of  men  were  smoking,  and  steam  arose  from 
cooking  which  was  being  done  over  a  large  open  fire  at 
one  end  of  the  room.  Hanging  on  lines  near  the  fireplace 
were  articles  of  clothing,  which  appeared  to  have  been 
washed  and  placed  to  dry.  In  the  centre  of  the  room 
were  two  long,  dirty  deal  tables.  Beside  these  were  several 
forms  without  backs.  With  the  exception  of  a  rough  dresser 
fixed  to  one  of  the  walls  and  a  large  cupboard  in  one  of  the 
corners,  the  tables  and  benches  constituted  the  whole  furniture 
of  this  strange  apartment. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  misery  of  this  room,  although  it 
was  not  until  the  morning  that  I  could  see  how  utterly  filthy 
and  disgusting  it  was.  The  semi-darkness  of  the  night  hid 
its  dirt,  but  could  not  conceal  its  smell.  On  the  dresser  and 
on  the  fireplace  mantel-piece  were  plates,  saucepans,  dirtj 


ttbe  Efcae  of  tbe  Street  273 

teapots,  mugs,  and  remains  of  food.  The  whole  establish 
ment  afforded  an  untidy,  wretched,  and  uncomfortable 
shelter. 

Bad  as  the  place  was,  it  was  made  yet  more  horrible  by 
its  inhabitants.  The  most  appalling  collection  of  villainous, 
dirty,  and  evil-smelling  wretches  were  gathered  there. 

It  appeared  that  we  had  arrived  at  a  time  when  the 
occupants  of  this  kitchen  were  greatly  excited.  Just  before 
we  entered  a  man  had  been  arrested  in  this  very  room  for 
beating  his  wife  so  badly  that  she  had  had  to  be  taken  to 
the  hospital. 

It  was  not  until  the  woman  was  nearly  murdered  that  the 
other  cowardly  occupants  of  the  kitchen  had  interfered.  It 
seems  to  be  quite  a  creed  with  these  vagabonds  not  to  inter- 
fere in  the  fight  between  man  and  wife.  Just  now  the  whole 
affair  was  being  excitedly  discussed  in  the  most  terrible 
language  I  have  ever  heard. 

At  the  corner  of  the  table  nearest  to  which  I  stood  sat  an 
old  grey-haired  woman.  Her  bonnet  hung  down  on  her  back 
supported  by  its  strings  tied  round  her  neck,  her  thin  arms 
bare  to  the  elbows.  On  the  table  in  front  of  her  was  a  greasy 
paper  filled  with  fried  fish  and  scraps  of  fried  potatoes.  These 
she  was  eating  with  her  fingers.  How  she  masticated  her 
food  I  could  not  imagine,  as  she  seemed  not  to  have  a  tooth 
in  her  head.  Looking  up  she  saw  me  watching  her.  A 
smile  spread  over  her  puckered  old  face.  She  moved  a  little 
further  up  the  seat  and  beckoned  me  to  sit  down  by  her  side. 
This  I  did. 

Then,  with  her  mouth  full  of  food  she  mumbled  what  I 
understood  to  be  an  invitation  to  me  to  eat  with  her.  I 
think  I  must  have  shuddered,  for  she  turned  her  bleary 
old  eyes  on  me  and  gazed  in  my  face  for  a  moment. 

"  You  ain't  been  'ere  afore,  gal  ?  "  she  said. 


274  Ube  Soul 

"  No,"  I  blurted  out. 

11  What's  brought  ye  here,  then  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  Misfortune,"  I  answered. 

"  Ah !  down  on  your  luck,  eh  ?  Well,  buck  up  and  have  a 
bit  of  grub — nothing  like  grub  to  buck  you  up,  'cept  beer, 
when  your  luck's  out."  Then  she  pushed  the  paper  of  fish 
and  potatoes  towards  me. 

Unlovely  as  these  people  are,  they  have  the  redeeming 
grace  of  charity.  They  are  nearly  always  willing  to  share 
their  food  or  covering  with  one  of  their  own  class  who 
arouses  their  sympathy.  And  ignorant  as  they  are,  they 
all  have  their  philosophy. 

As  I  sat  near  the  old  woman,  a  big,  brutal-looking  man 
came  across  the  room,  and  staring  at  me  for  a  moment,  said 
to  the  old  woman  beside  me  : 

"  Hallo,  Liz,  who  is  yer  pal  ?  " 

"I  dunno,  Jim,  a  lodger,  ain't  she?"  she  asked;  then 
turning  to  me  she  said :  "  You  are  a-staying  here,  ain't 
yer?" 

I  said  I  wanted  to,  but  I  had  not  seen  anyone  in  charge, 
and  then  I  pointed  to  Mr.  C.,  who  pretended  to  be  nodding 
near  the  door. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  the  man  said.  "  I  am  the  depety ; 
give  us  yer  'oof." 

The  old  woman  had  to  explain  to  me  that  he  was  asking 
for  my  money.  Mr.  C.  came  up  and  gave  him  a  shilling. 
He  took  it  and  told  us  to  come  up  to  the  "orffice  for  yer 
smash."  This  I  understood  to  mean  the  change,  so  we 
followed  him  out  of  the  kitchen  and  up  the  dark  stairs  to 
the  entrance  hall.  He  unlocked  a  door  and  entered  a  room, 
and  presently  returned  with  fourpence.  I  asked  him  where 
I  was  to  sleep. 

"  Want  to  go  to  bed  now  ?  "  he  said. 


ZTbe  Efcae  ot  tbe  Street  275 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  for  I  felt  I  could  not  face  the  kitchen 
again. 

"  Oh,  well,  go  up  them  stairs,  and  your  room  will  be  the 
first  on  the  left,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  stairs  that  led  to 
the  rooms  above. 

I  mounted  the  stairs  and  found  a  landing  dimly  lighted  by 
a  gas  jet  turned  very  low.  Near  the  gas  bracket,  fastened 
on  the  wall,  were  the  rules  and  regulations  issued  by  the 
London  County  Council,  concerning  the  management  of 
common  lodging-houses.  I  paused  for  a  moment  to  read 
these,  then  turned  to  the  first  door  on  the  left,  opened 
it,  and  found  a  dimly-lighted  room  containing  ten  beds  very 
close  together.  The  room  was  as  yet  unoccupied. 

I  entered  and  turned  up  the  gas  and  examined  the  beds 
and  the  room.  The  floor  was  bare  and  dirty.  The  walls  and 
ceiling,  however,  were  whitewashed.  At  the  single  window  of 
the  room  a  pair  of  dirty,  tattered  curtains  hung.  The  bed- 
clothing  appeared  fairly  clean.  For  a  moment  I  stood  and 
wondered  which  bed  I  ought  to  occupy  for  the  night,  not 
knowing  if  any  were  engaged.  I  did  not  care  to  go  downstairs 
again  and  ask  the  man  in  charge,  so  making  up  my  mind  I 
took  the  one  nearest  the  door. 

Tired  out,  I  was  soon  asleep,  but  was  speedily  awakened, 
for  the  bed  had  other  occupants  besides  myself,  and  the  walls 
and  ceiling,  notwithstanding  the  whitewash,  harboured  all 
manner  of  creeping  horrors.  The  noise  downstairs  continued, 
people  began  to  come  upstairs,  in  the  hall  below  a  fight  took 
place,  a  number  of  men  seemingly  the  worse  for  liquor 
stumbled  up  the  stairs  singing  loudly. 

It  was  not  until  Big  Ben  had  struck  one  o'clock  that  the 
house  became  comparatively  quiet.  One  by  one  the  other 
occupants  of  the  room  came  to  bed.  There  was  not  much 
conversation,  but  what  there  was,  was  profane.  Once  during 


*7<5  ttbe  Soul 

the  night  the  door  was  opened  and  a  man's  head  appeared ; 
he  did  not  enter  the  room,  but  gently  closed  the  door  after  he 
had  looked  in. 

I  heard  a  distant  clock  strike  three,  and  then,  being  unable 
to  endure  the  stuffiness  of  that  ugly  room  with  its  heavy- 
breathing  occupants  any  longer,  I  crept  down  to  the  kitchen. 
Mr.  C.  had  said  he  would  spend  the  night  there  studying  the 
various  types  of  humanity  that  drifted  in. 

I  found  him  dozing,  with  his  arms  leaning  on  the  table. 
We  thought  at  first  of  slipping  quickly  away,  but  decided  to 
stay  and  see  the  morning  life  of  a  mixed  lodging-house.  Mr. 
C.  and  I  sat  talking  in  low  whispers  of  our  plans.  Several 
men  and  two  women  were  lying  on  the  forms  and  tables  fast 
asleep,  contrary  to  the  regulations,  which  forbid  the  use  of 
any  room  for  sleeping  that  is  not  specially  licensed  for  the 
purpose. 

At  five  o'clock  a  boy  of  about  fourteen  came  into  the  room. 
The  gas  was  then  alight ;  it  had  been  burning  all  night.  The 
boy  began  to  poke  up  the  almost  dead  fire. 

In  answer  to  my  inquiry  as  to  where  I  could  wash,  he 
showed  me  into  a  dark  and  evil-smelling  place  about  eight 
feet  square.  Against  one  of  the  walls  were  four  grimy 
earthenware  troughs.  Over  each  trough  was  a  tap.  Hanging 
on  the  door  was  a  coarse  towel  absolutely  black  and  stiff  with 
dirt.  Holding  my  hands  underneath  the  running  water,  I 
washed  them  and  wiped  them  on  my  handkerchief.  This 
done,  I  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

A  woman  and  two  small  children  had  entered  whilst  I  had 
been  performing  my  very  primitive  ablutions.  The  woman 
took  from  the  dresser  a  saucepan,  went  to  the  tap  where  I  had 
been  washing,  filled  it  with  water  and  put  it  on  the  fire  to 
boil.  When  the  water  boiled  she  took  a  tea-pot  from  the 
dresser  and  made  tea.  She  also  took  from  the  dresser  a 


ttbe  Efcoe  of  tbe  Street  277 

basin,  into  which  she  poured  some  of  the  hot  water  she  was 
not  using  for  tea-making.  In  this  basin  she  washed  the  faces 
of  her  children,  wiping  them  with  her  apron,  then  to  my 
horror,  she  threw  away  the  dirty  water  from  the  basin  and 
filled  it  with  tea,  which  she  and  the  children  drank. 

The  tables  were  strewn  with  broken  food,  fish-bones,  basins, 
and  beer-cans.  The  floor  was  covered  with  filth  and  dirt  to 
a  most  disgusting  degree.  The  dreadful  odours  of  this  badly 
ventilated  room  were  almost  overpowering.  A  man  rose  from 
one  of  the  seats,  shook  himself,  lit  a  dirty  clay  pipe,  and  not 
ill-humouredly  wished  me  "  Good  morning."  I  saw  that  he  was 
the  man  who  had  taken  our  money  last  night.  He  went  to 
one  corner  of  the  room,  took  up  a  broom  and  commenced  to 
clean  up.  This  consisted  of  his  dragging  the  biggest  pieces 
of  refuse  that  littered  the  floor  towards  the  fireplace;  he 
gathered  them  together  in  a  shovel  and  threw  them  on  the 
fire.  Then  he  went  across  the  room  to  a  box  that  contained 
sand,  and  spread  a  few  handfuls  over  the  dirty  floor.  This 
constituted  probably  his  daily  hygienic  efforts. 

I  stumbled  up  the  dark  staircase  and  out  into  the  street, 
thanking  God  for  the  clean,  cool  rain  and  sweet  morning  air. 

I  have  since  been  in  a  house  reserved  for  women.  There 
are,  I  think,  about  twenty-five  licensed  common  lodging- 
houses  for  women  only.  These  houses  require  from  four- 
pence  to  sixpence  for  the  use  of  a  bed.  As  a  general  thing, 
the  accommodation  provided  for  women  is  inferior  to  that 
provided  for  men  and  the  prices  higher. 

There  are,  of  course,  many  unlicensed  places  of  refuge  in 
London,  but  only  the  initiated  can  find  these,  and  though  I 
heard  them  talked  of,  I  knew  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  investigate  them.  Of  licensed  common  lodging-houses 
there  are  some  115  in  London,  and  the  prices  for  beds  range 
from  fourpence  to  sixpence. 


278  Ube  Soul  /l&arfcet 

The  County  Council  regulations  for  these  licensed  lodging- 
houses  are  strict  enough, 

A  medical  officer  inspects  the  premises  occasionally,  but 
the  conditions  obtaining  in  most  of  them  are  bad. 

There  can  hardly  be  a  remedy  for  breaking  of  laws,  over- 
crowding, and  insanitary  conditions  among  a  vagabond  class, 
unless  decency  is  enforced  with  a  strong  hand. 

No  common  lodging-house  ought  to  be  run  as  a  private 
individual  enterprise.  I  have  been  in  a  good  many  of  these 
at  different  times,  and  everything  I  saw  convinced  me  that  a 
speedy  reform  is  urgently  needed.  In  the  matter  of  securing 
for  women  in  London  respectable  and  sufficient  shelter  much 
yet  remains  to  be  done. 

The  London  County  Council  and  several  philanthropic 
institutions  have  built  lodging-houses  for  men.  There  are  the 
Rowton  Houses,  and  the  Deptford  County  Council  Lodging- 
House,  but  there  are  no  similar  places  for  women. 

There  are  a  very  few  scattered  shelters,  such  as  the  Church 
Army  Shelter,  the  Dormitory,  Providence  Row,  Whitechapel, 
which  affords  practically  free  shelter  to  destitute  women,  but 
such  refuges  are  like  wells  in  the  Sahara,  few  and  far  between. 

A  curious  sight  once  attracted  me  during  my  journeyings 
in  the  East  End,  and  it  seemed  to  me  an  eloquent  condemna- 
tion of  our  loafing  men.  This  was  the  oasis  of  vagabondage 
in  the  alien  quarter  of  Spitalfields.  There,  among  a  foreign 
population  of  hard,  driving,  greedy,  dirty,  but  endlessly 
industrious  folk,  I  found  the  lodging-houses  in  Brick  Lane, 
Flower  and  Dean  Streets,  and  Dorset  Street,  practically  the 
only  houses  in  the  neighbourhood  occupied  by  English 
people,  and  their  condition  was  so  destitute  that  they  could 
afford  no  better  shelter  than  was  offered  by  these  filthy 
places.  The  aliens  could  make  homes  for  themselves,  but  oui 
idle  people  lived  in  the  streets  and  slept  in  doss-houses. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   BREEDING-PLACE   OF  THIEVES 

I  HAD  been  reading  a  variety  of  correspondence  on  the 
deterioration  of  the  race,  together  with  various  panaceas  for 
this  evil.  On  one  side  were  those  tender  humanitarians  who 
think  that  all  discipline  and  judicial  or  military  severity 
emanate  from  the  devil,  and  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  the 
reiterated  cry  of  the  necessity  for  conscription.  I  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  John  Hooligan  in  his  native  haunts,  and  certainly 
my  prescription  for  him  would  have  been  compulsory  service 
in  the  Army,  where  he  would  have  been  licked  into  some 
semblance  of  humanity.  I  had  seen  little  children  crippled 
and  tortured  by  hulking  brutes  of  men  who  so  swell  the 
ranks  of  the  unemployed.  I  have  known  women  who,  within 
an  hour  of  their  confinement,  had  been  obliged  to  work  for 
the  support  of  such  ruffians  as  these,  enduring  from  them 
besides  all  manner  of  unspeakable  brutality.  My  inclination, 
therefore,  was  to  prescribe  for  these  amiable  gentlemen  strictly 
judicial  floggings.  The  only  thing  it  seemed  to  me  they  had 
any  regard  for  was  their  own  precious  skins.  Nevertheless, 
though  my  experiences  among  these  people  had  been  fairly 
intimate,  I  felt  that  I  was  not  capable  of  forming  s  just  opinion 
of  their  character  or  needs  till  I  had  xnade  more  prolonged 
studies  among  them.  I  had  several  times,  in  company  with 
friends  interested  in  prison  and  rescue  work,  attended  what 
were  practically  thieves'  suppers.  I  had  made  myself 

279 


z8o  Ube  Soul  /l&arfeet 

acquainted  with  the  working  of  several  branches  of  the 
Prisongate  Mission,  and  now  my  anxiety  was  by  some 
possibility  to  place  myself  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  lives 
of  these  people  without  the  prejudice  that  one  naturally  has 
while  seeing  them  as  an  outsider.  Of  course  it  was  an 
impossibility  for  me  to  get  myself  committed  to  jail,  or  to 
indulge  in  any  crime  that  would  have  given  me  a  passport  into 
the  select  circle  of  criminals,  and  I  was  at  my  wits'  end  to 
know  how  I  might  accomplish  my  purpose.  Then  I  bethought 
me  of  my  friend  Mr.  C.  If  there  is  one  man  in  the  whole  of 
London  who  would  be  likely  to  know  anything  of  this  side  of 
life,  it  would  certainly  be  the  man  who  had  been  my  guide  on 
many  occasions  when  we  had  sallied  forth  to  the  haunts  of 
misery  and  poverty,  disguised  beyond  recognition,  as  wanderers 
ourselves.  Mr.  C.  was  not  enthusiastic  about  this  plan  of 
mine.  He  considered  that  my  knowledge  of  the  people  was 
quite  intimate  and  extensive  enough.  But  I  said  to  him  : 

"  I  wish  you  would  help  me.  I  really  would  like  very 
much  to  spend  some  time  among  the  hooligan  and  criminal 
poor  without  actually  living  among  them  night  and  day.  I 
would  like  to  form  some  idea  as  to  what  remedies  might  be 
applied  to  improving  their  condition  and  humanising  them." 

Mr.  C.  laughed.  "  The  best  way  to  humanise  that  kind  of 
character/'  he  said,  "as  everyone  who  has  worked  among 
them  knows,  is  to  have  them  flogged  '  once  a  week 
reg'lar.' » 

Having,  however,  no  hope  at  all  that  such  a  just  state  of 
affairs  would  come  about  on  this  side  of  the  Millennium,  1 
coaxed  Mr.  C.  to  make  some  investigations  for  me ;  and  he 
managed  to  get  hold  of  a  woman  who  was  well  acquainted 
with  one  of  the  most  dreadful  localities  in  London.  She  was 
a  working  woman,  and  at  one  time  filled  the  office  of  district 
nurse,  but  she  took  to  drink  and  lost  her  health,  and  so  by 


TTbe  3Btee&m0*flMace  of  Hbfeves        281 

degrees  had  fallen  very  low.  She  had,  however,  been  rescued 
by  one  of  the  missions  working  in  the  East  End,  and  through 
this  agency  was  introduced  to  one  of  the  prison  missionaries, 
who,  seeing  a  possibility  of  making  her  useful,  set  her  to  work 
in  this  particular  slunij  where  from  time  to  time  she  visited 
the  women,  and  gave  notices  of  such  children  as  she  found 
starving  or  deserted.  I  think  that  her  work  had  completed 
her  reformation,  for  when  we  knew  her,  though  she  was  very 
poor,  she  certainly  was  perfectly  respectable.  She  was  not 
exactly  prepossessing  to  look  upon,  but  seemed  quite  honest 
and  straightforward.  After  hearing  her  talk  for  a  little  while, 
Mr.  C.  and  I  arranged  with  her  to  procure  a  slum  residence, 
where  I  might  go  with  her  and  stay  for  a  day  or  so  at  a  time. 
Between  these  two  friends  the  necessary  details  were  accom- 
plished. They  rented  a  room,  and  fitted  it  with  a  few  very 
rough  pieces  of  furniture.  The  expenditure  on  household 
fittings,  I  think,  amounted  to  about  nine  shillings,  for  we 
bought  the  things  at  one  of  those  sad  little  second-hand 
furniture  shops  which  are  characteristic  of  the  poorest  neigh- 
bourhoods. I  write  "  sad "  because  the  windows  of  these 
shops  reveal  so  much  more  to  me  than  their  frowsy  show  of 
various  odds  and  ends.  The  rickety  tables,  the  broken  chairs, 
the  rusty  fire-irons,  the  faded  pictures  and  battered  ornaments 
speak  only  too  plainly  of  the  struggles  and  miseries  of  the 
unfortunates  who  once  owned  them.  Poor  creatures  !  who  in 
numbers  of  cases  had  been  forced  to  sell  their  miserable 
oddments  in  order  to  get  food  and  warmth  for  hungry  little 
ones  perhaps. 

"  I  don't  mind  gettin'  rid  of  my  clobber  or  tools  so  much  ; 
but  'avin'  to  sell  the  poor  old  sticks  fair  breaks  my  'art,"  I 
once  heard  a  disconsolate  out-of-work  say,  as  he  described,  in 
husky  tones,  the  sale  of  his  home  for  food. 

I  had  arranged  with  Mr.  C.  and  our  new-found  accomplice 


z82  ube  Soul  /IDarfeet 

— if  so  I  may  term  her — to  meet  me  at  a  point  which  was 
within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  Providence  Court,  the  slum  we 
had  chosen.  When  I  arrived  at  this  meeting-place  I  found 
both  my  champions  waiting.  Mr.  C.  shouldered  my  bundle 
of  bedding  and  clothes,  which,  according  to  his  advice,  I  had 
<5one  up  in  an  old  piece  of  sacking,  and  bade  us  follow  him. 
For  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  we  had  to  pass  along  the  crowded 
pavement  of  a  poor  people's  market,  and  I  found  it  difficult 
to  keep  near  my  companions.  It  amused  me  to  see  the 
strenuous  way  in  which  Mr.  C.  pushed  his  way  through  the 
noisy,  jostling  crowd  who,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  good- 
humoured  cries,  such  as  "Mind  the  grease,"  "Don't  push, 
governor,  shove  !  "  "  Anybody  seen  a  moving  job  ?  "  etc., 
paid  no  more  attention  to  my  burly  companion's  butting  and 
pushing — except  to  open  a  way  for  him — than  if  he  had  been 
doing  them  a  favour.  I  have  seen  many  crowds  in  many 
countries,  but  I  do  not  think  that  a  more  good-humoured 
crowd  exists  than  one  sees  on  a  Saturday  night  in  a  poor 
people's  market-place.  I  have  often,  on  Saturday  evenings, 
visited  such  market-places  as  Chapel  Street,  Islington,  the 
New  Cut,  Lambeth,  Lambeth  Walk,  East  Lane,  Walworth, 
and  from  twenty  to  thirty  other  places  of  this  class  to  be 
found  in  and  about  London.  At  such  times  and  in  such 
localities,  the  working  man  is  undoubtedly  seen  at  his  best. 
He  has  a  whole  day  and  two  nights  between  him  and  the 
return  of  toil  on  Monday  morning.  For  a  little  time  at  least, 
there  is  the  luxury  of  wages  to  spend,  and  relaxation,  and  the 
comparative  comfort  of  food  and  warmth,  therefore  there  is 
much  gaiety  and  lightness  of  heart.  Only  those  who  have 
actually  lived  by  stress  of  muscle  from  Monday  morning  until 
Saturday  noon,  can  appreciate  the  relief  that  comes  with  the 
weekly  half-holiday  and  the  Sunday's  rest. 

My  guides  turned  from  this  market  into  a  small  street 


ZTbe  Breefcfn^UMace  ot  TTbfeves        283 

which  appeared  darker  perhaps  than  it  really  was,  owing  to 
the  contrast  it  made  with  the  well-lighted  thoroughfare  we  had 
just  left.  A  few  yards  up  this  street  Mr.  C.  halted,  and 
pointing  to  a  dismal- looking  entry,  told  me  it  was  down 
there  that  Mrs.  Jebb  had  a  room  and  had  rented  one  for 
me.  The  place  appeared  so  dark  and  so  fearful  that  my 
heart  failed,  but  Mr.  C.  and  the  woman  encouraged 
me. 

"  Don't  give  the  show  away,"  said  Mr.  C.  "  No  one  will 
interfere  with  you ;  they  think  we  are  relations  of  Mrs.  Jebb's, 
and  she  has  given  out  that  we  are." 

He  went  on  and  I  followed  with  Mrs.  Jebb,  past  a  group  of 
hooligan  men  and  women  who  stood  in  the  tunnel-looking 
entry  which  led  into  the  cul-de-sac  beyond,  known  as 
Providence  Court.  Providence !  How  came  this  awful 
place  to  have  such  a  name?  For  every  person  who  has 
dwelt  within  its  area  from  the  time  of  its  insanitary  inception 
until  to-day,  has  daily  tempted  Providence  and  dallied  with 
disease  and  death.  The  place  is  nothing  but  a  stagnant, 
festering  back-wash  of  humanity,  where  naught  but  crime 
and  disease  can  flourish.  The  houses  standing  round  this 
court  were  thirty  in  number,  and  with  the  exception  of  those 
facing  the  entry,  none  of  them  had  any  rear  windows  or  back 
air  outlets  whatever.  The  only  ventilation  in  them  was  from 
the  narrow  area  in  front,  and  in  this  yard  all  the  sanitary 
conveniences  for  the  houses  were  situated.  What  little  wash- 
ing was  done,  the  women-folk  did  in  the  open  yard.  The 
water  for  domestic  use  had  to  be  drawn  from  two  taps  fastened 
to  the  sanitary  offices  in  the  middle  of  this  place.  The  slops 
and  dirty  water  were  emptied  into  an  open  sink  in  the  centre 
of  the  court.  In  wet  weather  pools  of  dirty  water— in  some 
places  ankle-deep—had  to  be  waded  through  to  reach  the 
houses.  The  whole  place  seemed  nothing  better  than  a 


»84  afoe  Soul  /i&arfeet 

baleful  bacteria  farm  spreading  poison  throughout  the  neigh- 
bourhood. The  "  fever  cart,"  as  the  inhabitants  of  this  court 
call  the  ambulance  of  the  Asylum's  Board,  constantly  stopped 
at  the  entry,  and  hardly  a  week  went  by  without  the  children 
of  the  place  having  an  opportunity  of  crowding  round  the 
nurses  as  they  carried  from  one  or  other  of  the  houses  a  poor, 
dying  child  or  a  woman  too  ill  to  move,  victims  of  rack-rent 
and  sanitary  negligence.  It  was  in  the  early  summer  that  I 
went  with  Mrs.  Jebb  and  Mr.  C.  to  explore  this  region.  Mrs. 
Jebb  had  two  small  rooms  on  the  same  landing  as  mine,  and 
Mr.  C.  and  she  looked  after  me.  Mrs.  Jebb  lived  among 
these  people,  and  had  rendered  herself  so  necessary  to  them 
that  they  accepted  her  at  last  as  belonging  to  themselves. 
She  had  the  women's  confidence,  and  nursed  them  and  their 
babies  in  their  hour  of  need.  She  rescued  many  a  young 
child  and  girl  from  criminality,  and  many  a  budding 
hooligan  was,  through  her  influence,  removed  to  happier 
surroundings. 

In  making  our  way  to  the  house  where  my  room  had  been 
engaged  we  were  obliged  to  step  over  several  persons  of  both 
sexes  who  were  lying  upon  the  ground  outside  their  houses. 
Others  were  sitting  with  their  backs  to  the  wall  drinking  beer 
from  cans.  It  appeared  that  the  inhabitants  of  Providence 
Court  had  elected  to  spend  the  night  al  fresco.  Before  I  had 
been  an  hour  in  my  own  room  I  discovered  the  reason  for  this 
unusual  desire  for  fresh  air  exhibited  by  my  neighbours,  and 
only  fear  and  modesty  restrained  me  from  sleeping  in  the 
open  air  myself.  The  houses  were  all  infested  with  vermin, 
and  sleeping  out  was  the  rule  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
could  be  no  sleeping  in. 

"  Lots  of  us  don't  never  sleep  inside  durin'  the  'ot  weather, 
me  gal,"  a  woman  declared  to  me.  "  Yer  see,  yer  can't  sleep 
indoors  unless  yer  gets  bug-proof." 


TTbe  3BrccMnQ-HMace  of  TTbfevcs        285 

"Bug-proof?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  blind  drunk,  don't  yer  understand  ?  " 

My  courage  sank  to  zero,  for  I  knew  that  this  remedy  did 
not  lie  within  my  reach.  I  invented,  however,  some  other 
remedies  for  this  disgusting  form  of  insomnia.  I  began  by 
carefully  insulating  my  bedstead  by  standing  its  legs  in  four 
basins  of  water ;  then  I  erected  a  canopy  of  net  over  my 
head,  and  by  this  means,  together  with  a  plentiful  supply  of 
carbolic  and  Keating's  powder,  obtained  a  sleeping-place.  My 
clothes  I  kept  at  the  foot  of  my  bed  wrapped  in  disinfected 
sheets. 

The  house  in  which  Mrs.  Jebb  and  I  stayed  was  rented 
from  a  company  who  were  the  owners  of  the  court.  It 
consisted  of  six  rooms  and  was  tenanted  by  fifteen  persons. 
There  was  the  landlord  himself,  who  paid  the  company  ten 
shillings  a  week  for  the  house,  and  sublet  four  of  the  rooms, 
retaining  two  for  himself  and  his  family,  who  numbered  eight 
persons.  The  occupants  of  these  two  rooms  were  the  landlord 
and  his  wife,  a  young  man,  a  relative  of  the  wife's,  and  five 
children.  What  the  landlord  did  for  a  living  I  never  found 
out.  The  young  man  picked  up  precarious  employment  by 
daily  attending,  or  "hanging  on,"  as  it  is  called,  at  a 
neighbouring  cab-rank.  This  man,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
was  the  only  man  living  in  the  court,  except  Mr.  C,  who  had 
anything  to  do  that  bore  any  resemblance  to  honest  effort. 
Most  of  the  men  in  the  place  did  not  even  make  a  pretence 
of  honesty,  and  openly  acknowledged  that  they  lived  "  on  the 
cross  " — that  is,  by  dishonesty. 

One  evening,  while  sitting  with  Mrs.  Jebb,  we  were  startled 
by  quite  an  uproar  in  the  open  yard,  and  on  looking  out  from 
the  window,  which  opened  into  the  court,  we  found  that  the 
place  had  been  raided  by  the  police,  who  had  swooped  down 
both  in  plain  clothes  and  in  uniform.  The  object  of  their 


Soul  flfoarftet 

very  unwelcome  visit  was  to  arrest  a  notorious  criminal,  and 
they  soon  led  from  one  of  the  houses  a  sullen,  low-browed 
ruffian  and  dragged  him  from  the  court,  hand-cuffed  and  well 
guarded ;  they  had  arrested  him  for  burglary  and  supposed 
murder. 

For  hours  after  the  departure  of  the  police  and  their 
prisoner,  the  inhabitants  of  this  dreadful  place  stood  round  in 
groups  discussing  the  affair,  and  although  one  heard  many 
expressions  of  sympathy  for  the  ruffian  who  had  been  arrested, 
and  many  denunciations  of  the  police  who  had  arrested  him, 
not  a  single  word  of  pity  for  the  unfortunate  victim  of  the 
crime  was  uttered.  Many  sinister  threats  of  what  was  to 
happen  to  a  certain  person,  an  erstwhile  inhabitant  of  the 
place,  and  companion  of  the  arrested  man,  were  prevalent 
that  night.  This  man,  in  the  general  opinion  of  the  others, 
had  contributed  to  the  discovery  of  the  murderer  by  "narking  " 
— that  is,  by  acting  as  a  police  spy.  I  am  sure  that  had  the 
person  so  denounced  presented  himself  in  his  old  haunts  that 
night,  whether  he  had  betrayed  his  companion  or  not,  the 
feeling  against  him  was  so  strong  that  he  would  have  been 
done  to  death  by  those  savages.  All  through  the  night  crowds 
of  men  and  women  gathered  round  the  door  of  the  house 
from  which  the  suspect  had  been  dragged.  These  people  were 
comforting,  or  trying  to  comfort,  the  woman  who  had  lived 
with  the  arrested  man.  Every  few  minutes  she  gave  vent  to 
her  feelings  in  a  flood  of  screams,  curses,  and  foul  language. 

"They'll  top  him;  they'll  top  him.  I  know  they  will;  I 
know  they  will !  "  she  screamed. 

"  Oh,  no,  they  won't ;  we'll  get  him  off,  old  girl.  They 
can't  bring  it  'ome  to  'im,  an'  they'll  'ave  to  prove  it  plain 
afore  they  can  'ang  1m,"  said  a  man,  trying  to  calm  her. 

During  the  night,  after  the  arrest,  the  children  of  the  court 
were  mad  with  excitement.  They  ran  from  one  group  to 


Ube  BreeMna-place  of  Ubfeves        287 

another  eagerly  listening  to  the  denunciations  of  the  police 
and  the  copper's  "nark."  For  days  after,  these  precocious 
mites  varied  their  games,  which  usually  consisted  of  playing 
drunken  mother  and  father,  by  inventing  new  ones,  wherein 
the  central  figures  were  the  suspected  murderer  and  the  police 
spy.  At  one  time  the  murderer  would  escape  from  prison, 
and  at  another  he  would  be  rescued  at  the  moment  he  was 
about  to  be  solemnly  hanged  by  a  diminutive  Jack  Ketch 
of  ten. 

In  all  these  slum  games  the  policeman  was  treated  as  a 
natural  enemy  of  mankind,  and  was  invariably  ill-treated  and 
discomfited  by  these  embryo  gaol-birds. 

But  to  return  to  the  discussions  which  followed  the  arrest. 
One  speech  which  was  repeated  to  me  I  think  expressed 
clearly  the  feeling  of  hatred  this  class  bears  for  the  guardians 
of  the  peace.  Beneath  our  window,  in  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  young  hooligans,  stood  a  lad  of  not  more  than  twenty.  He 
said  with  curses  : 

"  'S  'elp  my  Gawd,  if  I  knew  for  certain  I  was  a-goin'  ter 
peg  out  ter-morrer,  I'd  go  strite  out  o'  this  'ere  court,  an'  I'd 
out  a  b rosser  ter-night." 

The  term  "rosser"  is  the  slang  title  applied  to  the 
police. 

A  few  days  after  the  arrest,  Mrs.  Jebb  and  I  were  called 
down  from  our  rooms  one  morning  by  the  landlord,  to  see  a 
man  who  was  canvassing  the  neighbours  on  behalf  of  the 
suspected  murderer. 

"  I  'ave  called  on  yer,"  he  said,  "  to  see  if  yer  will  come  a  bit 
towards  the  mouthpiece  of  Ned  Gilson." 

This  was  the  name  of  the  arrested  man. 

I  did  not  dare  to  show  that  I  was  bewildered  at  the  request, 
and  my  instinct  told  me,  although  the  language  was  un- 
familiar, that  the  man  was  asking  for  a  subscription  towards 


ass  ube  Soul  /l&arfcet 

the  defence,  and  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Jebb  give  him  sixpence,  I 
did  the  same. 

He  entered  the  amount  on  a  dirty  piece  of  paper.  This 
practice  of  canvassing  a  neighbourhood  on  behalf  of  a  criminal 
is  quite  common.  Publicans  and  others  are  systematically 
terrorised  into  adding  their  names  to  these  subscription  lists. 
Gangs  of  brutal-looking  men — friends  of  some  ruffian  upon 
whom  the  hand  of  justice  has  recently  fallen — make  their 
way  into  the  small  shops,  and  literally  demand,  with  threats, 
money  from  the  shop-keepers  to  defend  their  companions. 
From  Providence  Court  there  sallied  forth  every  day  such 
gangs,  who,  like  packs  of  wolves,  preyed  in  concert  upon  the 
unwary.  Swooping  down  upon  street  book-makers,  whose 
business  lays  them  open  to  blackmail,  they  looted  them  of 
money.  I  have  often  heard  descriptions  of  these  "  ramping  " 
expeditions,  bow  such  a  man  was  "  bounced  "  out  of  two  quid 
(blackmailed  for  two  sovcieigns),  or  another  "  held  up  for  a 
fiver"  —  that  is,  robbed  of  a  ^5  note.  Gangs  of  vaga- 
bonds lived  about  this  neighbourhood,  who  daily  obtained 
money  by  threat,  making  a  trade  of  terrorism  and  a  business 
of  blackmail.  Children  scarcely  able  to  walk  crawled  into 
shops  and  under  the  stalls  of  the  adjoining  market,  filching 
the  fruit  or  anything  their  tiny  hands  could  seize. 

"  Who's  a-comin'  out  nickin'  ? "  some  urchin  of  six  or 
seven  would  say,  and  followed  by  a  little  gang  of  children, 
would  go  off  on  what  was  called  a  "  nickin' "  expedition, 
which  means  a  thieving  raid.  As  they  grew  older,  they 
were  initiated  by  more  experienced  criminals  into  the  art 
of  "  box-lifting  "  —  that  is,  till  -  stealing.  A  shop  where 
the  takings  were  kept  in  the  old-fashioned  sliding  drawer 
under  the  counter  would  be  marked.  The  shop  would 
be  watched,  and  if  it  was  left  a  minute  unattended,  one  of  the 
smaller  boys  would  creep  in  on  his  hands  and  knees,  insinuate 


TTbe  3Breeofn0HIMace  of  ZTbieves        289 

himself  round  the  counter,  gently  withdraw  the  till,  then  creep 
out  again,  and  hand  it  to  one  of  his  companions,  who  would 
immediately  put  it  into  a  bag  brought  for  the  purpose ;  then 
they  would  decamp. 

I  had  explained  to  me  some  of  the  mysteries  of  pocket- 
picking.  This  is  a  profession  requiring  a  great  deal  of 
practice.  To  gently  turn  a  man's  pockets  inside  out  without 
the  wearer's  knowledge  is  a  feat  not  performed  without  much 
skill.  Those  who  follow  this  light-fingered  business  enter  the 
profession  young.  Every  year  Providence  Court  turns  out 
one  or  more  efficient  "hooks" — that  is,  pick-pockets  who 
are  adepts  in  "  mugging  a  red "  or  "  pinching  a  leather," 
which  in  plain  English  means  taking  a  watch  or  stealing 
a  purse.  Some  of  the  women  were  passers  of  bad  money, 
and  once  a  creature  came  to  Mrs.  Jebb  offering  her  a  half 
share  in  the  plunder  if  she  would  go  out  and  change  some 
counterfeit  coin.  Needless  to  say  she  pleaded  fear,  saying 
she  was  not  experienced  enough.  The  woman  forthwith 
began  telling  her  how  she  should  go  into  tne  shop  and  buy 
some  few  articles  with  a  careless  air,  for  which  she  must  pay 
with  the  false  tokens,  getting  in  return  a  considerable  amount 
in  change.  This  of  course  would  be  fair  money.  This 
person  was  extremely  disgusted  with  Mrs.  Jebb  for  refusing 
to  "  risk  "  doing  such  a  thing.  It  seems  that  she  was  getting 
a  little  nervous  about  playing  the  game  herself,  because  a 
great  deal  of  bad  money  had  lately  been  passed  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  shop-keepers  were  beginning  to  get 
suspicious.  The  police  also  were  on  the  look-out.  The 
woman  was  in  touch  with  a  gang  of  coiners,  and  bought 
supplies  from  the  "smashers,"  as  the  men  are  called  who 
act  as  agents  for  the  coiners.  The  location  of  the  coiners' 
dens  is  kept  secret  even  from  the  "snide-pitchers,"  which 
is  the  slang  name  for  the  actual  passers  of  the  counterfeit 


«9°  Ufoe  Soul  /iDarftet 

coins.  A  few  of  the  men — and  these  were  the  better  dressed 
— were  professional  "  tale-pitchers."  These  creatures  went  off 
every  morning  to  the  West  End  of  London  in  search  of 
plunder,  or  "mug-finding,"  as  they  called  their  profession. 
They  went  with  the  regularity  of  respectable  men  going  to 
do  legitimate  business,  and  it  was  from  their  ranks  that  the  men 
came  who  were  adepts  at  luggage-stealing  at  the  London  termini. 

This  system  of  crime,  too,  has  its  particular  slang,  and  is 
known  as  "  toby-lifting  "  by  the  rogues  who  practise  it.  The 
thieves'  vocabulary  is  a  somewhat  large  one  and  needs  a 
dictionary  to  itself.  To  "out  a  man"  is  to  murder  him. 
To  "do  a  burst"  is  to  commit  a  burglary.  To  "chive"  a 
man  is  to  stab  him,  and  the  expression  "to  put  him  through 
it "  means  assault.  Stealing  is  called  "  lifting."  Cheating  at 
cards,  as  is  done  with  the  three  card  trick,  is  to  "work  the 
boards."  To  pass  forged  cheques  or  worthless  ones  is  to 
"fly  the  kite."  A  forger  is  a  "blacksmith,"  and  a  race- 
course swindler  or  welsher  is  spoken  of  as  a  "shiser."  A 
thief  is  a  "head";  a  policeman  in  uniform  a  "flat"  or  a 
"  rosser."  A  detective  is  called  a  "  split " ;  while  prison  is 
known  as  "Joe  ger  "  or  "  stir  " ;  and  a  warder  is  a  "screw." 

Of  course  all  this  knowledge  of  the  criminal  classes  was 
not  gathered  by  Mr.  C.  and  myself  in  Providence  alone, 
though  this  place  afforded  a  liberal  education  in  crime  and 
misery.  A  district  nurse  visiting  in  a  similar  locality  once 
took  me  to  see  a  girl  of  seventeen  who  had  a  baby  two  days 
old.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  in  the  room  when  the 
nurse  arrived,  and  she  wrapped  the  child  up  in  her  apron 
while  she  went  to  seek  a  few  rags  and  food  for  the  two 
unlucky  mortals  born  into  a  world  that  had  no  room  for  them. 
There  is  nothing  picturesque  or  romantic  about  life  in  the 
slums.  It  is  an  awful  revelation  of  crime  and  misery  such  as 
I  venture  to  say  no  "  heathen  "  country  could  outrival. 


THE   INFLUENCES   OF   MODERN   LITERATURE — FANCIES 

IN    FEASTS 

ONLY  twice  during  the  time  I  have  been  in  England  have  I 
heard  sermons  preached  in  church  which  dealt  with  the 
question  of  literature,  which  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
important  factors  in  influencing  the  minds  and  conduct  of 
the  present  generation.  And  the  subject  of  literature  is  a 
fitting  one,  I  think,  to  follow  the  description  of  hooligans 
and  thieves.  I  believe  that  more  criminals  and  sinners  are 
made  by  the  influence  of  the  books  and  papers  which  are 
to-day  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the  public  than  almost  by 
any  other  means. 

The  first  occasion  upon  which  I  heard  literature  dis- 
cussed from  the  pulpit  was  in  a  little  provincial  town,  in  a 
Nonconformist  chapel — Baptist,  I  think.  I  had  gone  there 
with  some  friends.  I  was  struck  with  the  truth  underlying 
the  minister's  utterances,  although  amazed  at  the  narrowness 
and  bigotry  of  a  man  who  could  condemn  wholesale  all  novel- 
reading  and  theatre-going.  His  own  knowledge  of  modern 
contemporary  literature  was  confined  probably  to  a  few 
notices  which  he  read  from  time  to  time  in  the  particular 
religious  journals  he  patronised.  He  had  never  entered  a 
theatre  in  his  life — not  that  I  think  he  was  much  poorer 
for  this — but  he  was  hardly  in  a  position  to  criticise 

dramatic  art,  or  the  dramatic  profession. 

291 


Soul 

The  other  occasion  on  which  I  heard  a  sermon  dealing 
with  the  influence  of  literature  was  in  an  Anglican  church 
in  London  which  I  had  attended  pretty  frequently.  In  this 
case  the  criticism  was  in  favour  of  reading  good  books  and 
"keeping  abreast  with  the  times."  Incidentally  the  preacher 
asked  for  subscriptions  towards  a  library  for  a  Boys'  Club 
which  had  just  been  started.  I  was  glad  to  add  my  humble 
mite,  hoping  much  that  the  selection  of  books  would  be 
such  as  might  be  read  by  the  boys  with  both  pleasure  and 
profit.  I  have  been  more  than  shocked  with  instances  that 
have  come  within  my  own  personal  knowledge  of  the  evil 
done  by  the  unscrupulous  and  really  bad  "literature,"  shall  we 
call  it  ?  which  is  flooding  the  market  to-day. 

In  my  student  days  I  came  across  a  girl  whose  history,  I 
think,  is  one  of  the  saddest  I  have  ever  known.  At  the  time 
I  knew  her  she  was  twenty-two  years  of  age.  Her  mother 
was  a  worldly  but  practical  woman,  who  was  ambitious  for 
this,  her  only  daughter.  She  had,  however,  a  nagging  tongue, 
and  none  of  the  wisdom  that  is  bred  of  great  love.  The 
girl  was  high-spirited,  wilful,  and  intolerant  of  the  constant 
badgering  to  which  she  was  subjected.  Her  father,  whom  she 
had  adored,  was  dead.  He  had  been  a  man  of  considerable 
means,  but  had  died  without  making  a  suitable  provision  for 
his  family,  or  rather,  he  had  left  his  property  in  such  a  way 
that  the  girl  would  not  benefit  by  it  till  she  was  twenty-five 
years  of  age. 

This  girl  began  her  reading  with  Ibsen's  plays  and 
theatrical  records.  At  eighteen  she  left  her  home,  and  as  she 
expressed  it,  "  went  on  the  stage  " — that  is  to  say,  she  joined  a 
travelling  theatrical  company.  She  had  the  usual  experience 
of  such  people.  After  a  time  her  mother,  seeing  that  she 
was  determined  to  go  on  with  this  career,  consented  to  send  her 
to  a  dramatic  school,  where  she  studied  for  six  months.  She 


TTbe  -Jnfluences  of  /l&ofcern  ^literature    293 

naturally  believed  herself  the  equal  of  any  actress  yet  seen  on 
the  boards,  but  she  had  no  outstanding  talent,  though  her 
aptitude  for  declamation  and  acting  was  considerable.  She 
had  the  good  fortune,  after  this  training,  to  be  engaged  by 
some  really  first-rate  managers,  and  she  played  also  for  some 
months  with  Mr.  Benson's  Shakespearian  company.  Then 
she  dropped  out  for  a  little  while,  and  during  her  "  resting  " 
period  she  fell  in  with  one  of  those  human  sharks  who  go 
about  the  world  seeking  whom  they  may  devour. 

I  have  met  this  man  several  times,  and  he  has  been  intro- 
duced to  me  afresh  on  each  occasion  because  I  persistentlyforget 
that  I  have  ever  met  him  before.  Knowing  what  I  do  of  him, 
I  could  not  possibly  bring  myself  to  touch  his  hand.  He  is 
extremely  good  -  looking,  and  tried  to  be  an  actor.  Not 
succeeding,  he  became  what  he  calls  an  "artist."  He  has 
been  so  spoilt  and  petted  by  women,  that  he  could  not  do  an 
honest  day's  work  to  save  his  life.  When  he  met  this  girl,  he 
had  a  wife  and  three  children,  was  well  fed,  and  a  hero  among 
the  people  he  illuminated  with  his  society.  He  was  a  clever 
talker,  an  infidel,  of  course,  disguised  under  various  pretty 
names — having  neither  religion,  nor  honour,  nor  manliness. 
He  had,  however,  a  beautiful  head.  He  insinuated  himself 
into  this  girl's  heart.  She  was  unaware  at  the  time  that  he 
was  married,  and  he  began  "  educating  "  her.  He  supplied 
her  with  all  the  modern  books  which  make  a  jest  of  things 
that  are  holy  and  of  good  repute.  He  gave  her  all  Ibsen's 
plays  and  others  of  that  ilk.  One  book  which  she  continually 
quoted  to  me  was  "The  Irrational  Knot."  She  knew  the  volume, 
I  think,  almost  by  heart  from  cover  to  cover.  Now,  I  have 
often  heard  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw  speak,  and  have  myself  read, 
with  the  keenest  pleasure,  many  of  his  books.  I  never  miss 
an  opportunity  of  going  to  see  a  play  of  his.  His  plays  are 
almost  the  only  intellectual  treats  one  gets  in  a  London 


294  ZTfoe  Soul 

theatre.  But  I  feel  sure  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw  would  feel 
desperately  sorry  if  he  knew  that  any  of  his  young  admirers 
misread  his  intentions,  and  set  out  alone  to  live  in  revolt 
against  present  laws.  This  girl  lent  me  "  The  Irrational 
Knot,"  all  scored  and  underlined  by  her  "  tutor."  She  was 
fully  convinced  that  she  was  required  to  be  an  apostle, 
preaching  the  new  gospel  of  free  love.  By  slow  degrees  her 
excellent  teacher  accomplished  his  desire,  and  she  went  U 
live  with  him.  Of  her  undoing  and  suffering  and  shame  1 
cannot  speak  at  length.  She  was  absolutely  honourable 
herself,  and  would  rather  starve  than  owe  anyone  a  penny 
She  was  also  generous  to  a  degree,  and  would  share  her  last 
crust  with  anyone  in  worse  plight  than  herself. 

The  man  in  whom  she  had  put  her  trust,  and  to  whom  she 
gave  all  her  love,  habitually  got  into  debt,  and  when  pressed 
hard,  had  a  neat  little  habit  of  giving  cheques  on  his  bank 
where  he  had  no  money  to  his  credit :  they  were  invariably 
returned  with  "refer  to  drawer."  The  girl  was  humiliated 
and  distracted  at  these  occurrences,  which  he  regarded 
with  the  utmost  philosophy.  Any  money  that  she  earned 
was  used  for  the  house;  he  was  too  artistic  to  earn 
money;  but  his  relations  often  sent  him  some,  and 
occasionally  he  borrowed  from  friends — women  mostly,  who 
were  only  too  pleased  to  accommodate  him — this  he  spent  on 
himself.  By  the  time  the  child  came,  he  had,  of  course, 
tired  of  his  new  plaything.  Her  education  was  complete. 
She  believed  in  nothing.  All  responsibilities  and  ties  were  to 
her  "irrational,"  she  found  herself  an  outcast;  but  when  I 
knew  her  she  still  clung  to  her  favourite  literature.  I  think 
I  have  never  seen  such  a  collection  of  pernicious  print  in 
any  one  place.  There  were  the  novels  of  a  degraded  Anglo- 
Indian  woman,  and  various  French  writers,  and  agnostic 
authors,  huddled  in  delightful  confusion  upon  her  deal  shelf. 


Ufoe  Influences  ot  /l&ofcern  ^Literature    295 

The  extraordinary  part  of  the  business  was,  that  the  girl,  with 
all  the  trouble  she  had  taken  to  smirch  and  mar  her  mind, 
had  yet  a  good  heart.  She  was  refined  in  thought  and  speech, 
absolutely  honest,  but  she  was  to  me  a  living  example  of  what 
irresponsible  literature  does  for  people  of  the  better  classes. 

I  know  another  girl,  whose  father  is  Squire  in  a  Yorkshire 
country  village.  They  have  an  ideal  home,  but  the  eldest 
daughter  has  made  herself  absolutely  mad  by  reading  bad 
literature,  both  French  and  English.  She  has  so  often  dis- 
graced her  parents,  and  has  such  a  warped  mind,  that  they 
are  obliged  to  keep  a  chaperon  for  her,  who  is  never  able  to 
trust  her  out  of  her  sight.  There  is  nothing  wrong  with  tho 
girl  except  that  she  has  read  some  hundreds  of  evil  books, 
and  imagines  herself  the  heroines  of  them  all. 

The  girl  who  was  such  an  admirer  of  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw,  and 
a  staunch  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  "  The  Irrational  Knot," 
was  of  course  abandoned  by  her  lover,  and  for  a  year,  having 
to  support  the  child,  and  not  being  able  to  obtain  work,  she 
endured  a  very  hell.  For  weeks  she  had  to  live  on  threepence 
or  fourpence  a  day,  eating  a  pennyworth  of  fish  from  a  fried  fish 
shop  with  a  halfpenny  roll,  and  on  Saturdays  allowing  herself  the 
enormous  treat  of  a  lunch  at  "  Lyons',"  which  consisted  of  a 
twopenny  sandwich  and  a  twopenny  cup  of  coffee.  She  had 
hardly  clothes  enough  to  cover  herself  decently,  and  endured 
unspeakable  anguish,  while  the  man  who  had  educated  her 
and  ruined  her,  lived  in  comfort,  and  succeeded  in  doing 
some  work  in  artistic  circles  for  which  he  was  extolled  to  the 
skies. 

Among  the  very  poor,  the  chiefest  literature  of  the  lads  and 
girls  consists  of  the  Police  News,  and  those  cheap  halfpenny 
papers  which  give  detailed  accounts  of  all  crimes  and  acts  of 
violence,  together  with  the  photographs  of  the  heroes  and 
heroines  of  these  exploits. 


Soul  /l&arfeet 

I  came  across  a  girl,  who  lives  in  a  slum  near  Notting 
Dale,  who  has  her  walls  plastered  with  prints  of  murderers, 
divorcees,  and  other  infamous  characters  which  have  appeared 
in  cheap  papers ;  and  a  hooligan  lad  of  about  seven  years  of  age, 
with  whom  I  became  extremely  friendly,  confided  to  me  that 
his  greatest  ambition  in  life  was  to  get  a  "  two  stretch  " — that  is, 
a  term  of  two  years'  imprisonment,  "like  Tom  Sharp,"  whose 
picture  was  in  several  of  the  cheap  papers  which  this  lad  had 
bought.  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  think  that  the  press,  which 
might  be  the  greatest  instrument  for  good  in  the  land,  is  being 
used  to  encourage  such  a  lad  as  this  to  a  life  of  infamy.  He 
is  mad  to  secure  the  notoriety  of  having  his  picture  produced 
in  the  papers  read  by  his  companions.  I  suppose  it  would  be 
too  much  to  suggest  that  some  member  of  Parliament,  or  some 
women's  council  in  the  land,  might  take  up  this  question, 
and  agitate,  and  plead,  and  petition,  till  a  law  was  passed 
forbidding  the  publication  of  the  picture  of  any  notorious 
evil-doer. 

While  I  lived  in  the  slums  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  avidity  with  which  even  the  little  children  seized  upon  the 
cheap  illustrated  papers,  and  hunted  out  pictures  of  criminals, 
or  sites  of  places  where  violent  deeds  had  been  done.  They 
gloated  over  these,  and  made  games  in  which  they  impersonated 
the  hero  or  heroine  of  some  dreadful  act.  The  pulpit  too, 
perhaps,  could  be  used  for  worse  purposes  than  for  advice 
and  counsel  upon  recreative  and  educational  reading. 
People  must  and  will  read,  and  indeed  it  is  advisable  that 
they  should  do  so,  but  for  pity's  sake,  let  someone  advise  the 
young  what  they  should  read,  and  what  they  should  avoid. 


Ube  Influences  of  /iDofcern  t&tteratuve    297 

THERE   ARE   OTHER   EVILS,   TOO,    RESULTANT  UPON   THE 
DAILY   PRESS 

If  our  newspapers  lived  up  to  their  vaunted  ideal,  which  is 
that  they  desire  to  create  a  wholesome  public  opinion  and  be 
an  influence  for  good  in  the  land,  they  would  cease  to 
advertise  from  time  to  time  the  horrible  gourmandising  of 
the  idle  rich.  They  could,  in  actual  fact,  be  instrumental  in 
abolishing  the  senseless  feasts  which  are  constantly  given  in 
the  great  hotels,  merely  as  an  advertisement  for  some 
miserable  snob.  What  useful  purpose  can  it  possibly  serve 
to  give  a  full  description  of  a  saturnalia  given  by  some  ill-bred 
American  or  wealthy  parvenu,  the  cost  of  which  works  out  at 
something  like  ^50  a  head?  One  such  entertainment  given 
in  a  leading  London  restaurant  was  chronicled  in  almost  every 
paper  printed  in  the  Metropolis.  Accounts  of  this  entertain- 
ment filtered  into  the  great  provincial  papers  as  well.  At  the 
time  this  particular  feast  was  given,  there  were  parading  in  the 
London  streets  thousands  of  wretched  unemployed.  During 
that  very  winter  little  children  might  have  been  seen  any  day 
in  any  thoroughfare  where  there  were  eating-shops,  pressing 
their  little  bodies  and  cold  faces  against  the  glass  behind 
which  the  food  was  displayed.  These  were  little  starving 
things  whom  nobody  cared  to  feed,  of  whom  the  papers  took 
no  notice,  though  they  fought  for  news  of  the  degenerate 
who  organised  a  huge  advertisement  for  himself  by  giving  a 
^2,000  dinner  to  light  women,  and  others  who  would 
accept  such  hospitality.  If  the  newspapers  had  refused  to 
take  any  notice  of  this  grotesque  affair  the  man  would  have 
sat  in  dust  and  ashes,  and  regretted  all  his  life,  spending  the 
money  which  brought  him  no  notoriety.  It  is  useless  for  the 
British  press  to  rave  over  the  misdeeds  of  the  "  smart  set," 
while  it  chronicles  every  inane  entertainment  and  idiotic 


?9&  TTbe  Soul 

remark  that  is  made  by  those  who  are  rich  enough  to  pay  for 
the  notice.  It  is  not  only  one  journal,  unfortunately,  which 
is  guilty  of  this  practice.  Every  single  paper  that  is  printed 
in  this  country  encourages  vice  and  prodigality  every  time  it 
advertises  the  degrading  exhibitions  of  sensuality  which  such 
entertainments  undoubtedly  are. 

Turning  from  the  picture  of  one  of  these  dreadful  feasts  to 
the  other  side  of  the  road,  I  may  give  here  the  story  of  a  lady 
whom  I  will  call  the  "  Economist."  I  met  her  one  evening 
on  the  outskirts  of  a  small  crowd  which  had  gathered  round 
the  door  of  a  well-known  restaurant.  The  people  were 
watching  the  advent  of  a  gay  party  of  men  and  women 
in  evening  dress,  who  had  arrived  in  a  splendid  motor  car. 
The  Economist  was  a  woman  of  some  fifty  summers,  perhaps 
I  might  more  fitly  say  winters,  as  it  was  a  very  shivery  time 
of  the  year.  She  was,  I  guessed,  either  an  office-cleaner  or 
a  charwoman.  From  her  first  remark  to  me  I  gathered  that 
she  did  not  approve  of  the  ostentatious  display  of  shoulders 
and  bare  arms  exhibited  by  the  ladies  of  the  motor  party, 
when  they  removed  their  cloaks  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
restaurant.  "  Disgustin',  I  calls  it,"  she  said  to  me.  "  Gettin 
theirselves  up  like  that,  like  a  brazen  parrit,  I  calls  it ! "  I 
nodded  my  head  discreetly,  not  liking  to  admit  that  I  was 
unfamiliar  with  brazen  parrots,  and  the  lady  went  on  :  "  To 
think,  me  dear,  it  is  the  likes  of  us  that  keeps  the  likes  of 
them  " — she  viciously  tugged  at  her  bonnet-strings — "  them 
as  is  goin'  to  gorge  theirselves  whilst  we  'ard-workin'  folks 
is  out  'ere  a-starvin"' — the  lady,  by  the  way,  looked  in 
extremely  good  condition.  "They  ought  to  'ave  a  day  or 
two's  charin'  like  me  an'  you,"  she  went  on,  "  and  then  they 
would  understan'  the  value  o'  the  money  they  chucks  away  in 
them  places  with  their  five-course  dinners  for  five  bob,  and 
sich-like."  Again  I  nodded  my  head,  not  venturing  to 


tlbe  influences  of  flDo&ern  Xiterature    299 

inform  the  lady  that  such  a  thing  as  a  five -bob  dinner 
was  unheard  of  at  the  restaurant  near  which  we  were 
standing.  -£$  would  have  been  nearer  the  price  of  a  feast ; 
but  I  was  there  to  learn,  not  to  teach.  "Eatin'  money,  I 
calls  it,"  my  new  acquaintance  continued,  "fair  chuckin'  it 
away.  Why,  what  they  pays  for  their  little  bits  of  furrin 
muck  would  keep  our  'ard-workin'  family  a  week.  I  'ad 
a  brother  what  was  a  waiter,  and  'e  used  to  make  us  larf  when 
'e  told  us  o'  the  goin's  on  in  them  there  places,  'ow  the  toffs 
pays  an'  'ow  they  don't  know  what  they're  eatin'  of.  Five 
courses  for  five  bob,"  she  went  on  contemptuously.  "Why, 
I'd  give  you  a  better  dinner  nor  they'll  get  for  threepence, 
yus,  and  you'd  get  yer  five  courses  too,  if  yer  wanted  'em." 

"  Where  ?  "  I  inquired,  scenting  an  adventure. 

"  Over  the  water,"  she  answered. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  get  it  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  have  got  a  shilling 
or  two,  so  can  pay  for  both,"  I  added. 

"Can  you?"  she  said  delightedly.  "Well,  that's  jouick, 
come  on  and  I'll  take  yer."  She  led  me  past  Charing  Cross, 
down  Parliament  Street,  and  over  Westminster  Bridge,  then 
she  turned  down  a  narrow  street  leading  towards  Lambeth. 
"  'And  us  yer  bob,"  she  said,  holding  her  hand  out.  I  gave 
her  a  shilling.  "  Ah,  you're  one  of  the  right  sort,"  she  was 
good  enough  to  say,  clutching  the  money.  We  dived  deeper 
into  this  low  quarter,  and  at  length  stopped  outside  a  grimy- 
looking  shop,  the  windows  of  which  bore  certain  inscriptions 
proclaiming  the  fact  that  pea-soup  was  on  sale  at  a  penny,  and 
a  halfpenny  a  basin.  "  We're  goin'  to  start  our  table  dotty 
'ere,"  my  companion  declared,  "  an'  you  mark  me  words,  if 
I  don't  get  yer  five  bloomin'  courses  for  threepence,  soop, 
fish,  hontray,  and  jint,  an'  a  sweet  to  finish  up  with,  may  I 
be  blowed !  "  "Well,"  I  said,  "  I  am  quite  content  to  leave 
it  to  you."  "  Right  yer  are,  come  in,"  she  said.  "  We'll  start 


300  zrbe  Soul  /l&arfcet 

'ere,  and  we'll  begin  with  pea-soup."  We  entered  the  little 
shop,  and  found  it  unattended.  However,  after  much  strenu- 
ous thumping  upon  the  not  over-clean  counter  by  my  friend, 
a  frowsy,  middle-aged  woman  emerged  from  a  door  at  the 
back  of  the  shop.  She  had  evidently  been  disturbed 
whilst  at  her  toilet,  for  her  hair  was  still  flecked  with 
curl-papers.  "  Wot's  the  row  about  ? "  she  demanded. 
"Two  a'porths  o'  mud,"  was  the  only  answer  my  com- 
panion deigned  to  give.  The  irate  soup -vendor,  without 
so  much  as  a  remark,  and  without  further  notice,  proceeded 
to  a  large  tin  can  behind  the  counter  and  ladled  into  two 
great  earthenware  basins  two  semi-fluid  portions  of  some 
queer-looking  substance.  She  set  one  before  each  of  us, 
with  two  tin  tea-spoons.  Then  she  took  up  the  shilling  which 
my  companion  threw  on  the  counter,  and  gave  her  back 
elevenpence  in  change.  My  Epicurean  friend  ate  her  portion 
before  I  had  tasted  mine,  then  she  kindly  ate  mine  also. 
"Now  we'll  tike  our  fish  course,"  she  said.  I  followed  her  to 
a  fried  fish  shop;  into  this  she  pushed  her  way  through  a 
crowd  of  children.  "  Two  a'porths  middle  bits,"  she  ordered 
in  this  place.  A  hot,  perspiring  woman,  who  was  attending  to 
the  customers,  took  two  bits  of  fish  from  a  wire  tray  which 
hung  over  a  pan  of  boiling  fat,  and  wrapping  them  in  two 
pieces  of  paper,  handed  them  to  us.  My  friend  opened  the 
parcels,  and  turning  over  the  fish,  snorted  in  disgust. 
"Them's  'addick." 

"Well,  wot  do  yer  want  for  a  'apenny,  brill  or  turbit?" 
asked  the  woman  of  the  shop  angrily.  "  Wot  yer  goin'  to  do, 
tike  'em  or  leave  'em  ?  " 

We  took  them,  and  paid  her  a  penny  for  the  two  pieces. 
"  Come  along ! "  cried  my  mess-mate,  after  she  had  deluged 
her  fish  with  vinegar  out  of  a  bottle  that  stood  on  the  counter. 
The  bottle  was  corked,  but  a  little  hole  was  pierced  in  the 


influences  of  flDofcern  Xiterature    301 

cork,  and  through  this  the  vinegar  was  dashed  over  the  fish. 
"  We'll  eat  'em  as  we  go  along  for  our  next  bits,"  and  this  she 
proceeded  to  do  rapidly,  using  her  fingers  for  the  purpose. 
For  our  next  course  she  led  me  to  another  shop,  on  the 
windows  of  which  was  inscribed  the  legend  that  here  was  the 
only  old-established  cow-heel  and  tripe  shop  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Placards  further  announced  that  "  Faggots  and  pease 
pudding"  were  always  ready.  "Here's  where  we'll  git  our 
hontray,"  remarked  my  guide,  as  she  finished  my  fish  in  the 
same  generous  manner  which  she  had  displayed  when  helping 
me  with  my  soup  course.  The  third  course  consisted  of  a 
cube  of  curious  brown  stuff,  presumably  a  food,  for  my 
companion  devoured  both  mine  and  her  own  portions  with 
huge  relish.  Complying  with  her  order  for  "  two  pennyworth 
'ot  faggits,"  the  shop-keeper  cut  from  a  large  lump  two  portions 
of  this  stuff  and  handed  them  to  her  upon  two  pieces  of  paper. 
After  we  left  the  shop  I  no  longer  doubted  the  marvellous 
resources,  and  economic  abilities  of  this  gutter  Epicure,  still 
I  could  hardly  understand  how  it  was  possible  to  obtain  a  cut 
from  a  joint  for  the  sum  of  one  penny  each,  and  I  expressed 
my  misgivings  on  this  subject.  She  laughed  me  to  scorn. 
"Why,  that's  easy;  'ere  we  are,"  and  she  halted  in  front  of  an 
old  woman  who  sat  at  the  door  of  a  dirty  public-house, 
nursing  upon  her  knee  a  basket,  the  contents  of  which  were 
hidden  under  a  white  cloth.  To  this  old  woman  my  com- 
panion addressed  herself.  "Two  'apenny  'oofs!"  The  old 
lady  turned  down  her  cloth  and  from  her  basket  took  out  two 
sheep's  feet  or  trotters.  "Ain't  them  jints?"  my  companion 
demanded,  and  I  had  to  confess  that  they  certainly  were. 
We  had  now  accomplished  four  courses  and  had  spent  on 
soup  one  penny,  on  the  fish  one  penny,  on  the  faggots 
twopence,  and  on  the  joints  one  penny.  There  remained 
only  the  last  course,  and  my  friend  was  as  resourceful  as  ever. 


302  ube  Soul  flfcarfcet 

She  took  me  to  a  cook-shop,  where  she  purchased  two  half- 
penny lumps  of  plum  duff,  or  plum  pudding.  "  There  you 
are ! "  she'  cried  triumphantly ;  "  ain't  I  got  you  five  courses 
for  threepence?  And  it  ain't  been  no  messy  foreign  muck 
neither,  but  good  English  grub,  and  I  proved  me  words,  ain't 
I,  my  dear  ? — and — may  I  keep  the  tanner  change  for  luck  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 
IN  "REAL"  ENGLAND 

IT  is  a  relief  to  turn  from  such  sordid  pictures  of  lost  Ideate  to 
a  vision  of  wholesomeness  and  beauty.  I  will  give  here  a  little 
description  of  a  country  home  such  as  I  knew  it,  in  contrast 
to  the  hideous  jumble  that  life  assumes  in  London. 

As  I  look  back  to  that  quiet  summer  spent  with  friends  in 
the  sweet  little  English  village  in  Wiltshire,  I  seem  to  live 
again,  and  to  renew  hope,  and  a  belief  in  a  better  life  for  the 
unfortunates  among  whom,  for  so  long  a  time,  I  sojourned.  If 
only  we  could  get  our  people  away  from  the  slums  into  the 
country  places,  where  wholesome  work  would  be  rewarded 
fairly  and  justly,  and  where  a  man  might  bring  up  a  family  to 
serve  God  and  the  State,  we  might  lessen  the  growing  burden 
of  misery  which  is  settling  upon  this  country  like  a  pall. 

During  the  months  I  have  spent  in  London,  going  both 
socially  and  professionally  into  "Society,"  I  have  seen  the 
frantic  struggle  that  women  make  to  attract  men  to  their 
homes.  The  hospitality  which  is  offered  to  the  Lords  of 
Creation  is  lavish,  and  every  inducement  is  held  out  to  them, 
and  yet  I  fear  that  these  fine  ladies  have  not  really  learnt  the 
art  of  attracting  and  winning  the  devotion  of  the  best  sort  of 
men. 

In  the  sweet  country  Rectory  where  I  spent  so  many  happy 
days,  I  found  a  woman  who  glorified  life  and  enriched  all 
who  came  within  her  influence.  She  had  four  sons  and  two 

3°3 


3°4  Ube  Soul  flDarfiet 

daughters,  and  on  an  income  that  would  hardly  have  paid  for 
a  society  woman's  dress,  she  brought  these  children  up,  giving 
them  every  advantage  of  education.  The  boys  all  went  to 
public  schools,  having  been  trained  entirely  by  their  mother, 
and  from  there  three  of  them,  while  I  was  with  her,  went  to 
Oxford.  The  elder  girl  was  a  friend  of  mine  at  college,  and 
she  had  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  travelling  and  studying 
abroad,  procured  for  her  by  her  mother.  It  was  such  a  home 
as  one  may  fortunately  meet  with  still  in  the  quiet  country 
places.  The  little  church  was  across  the  garden,  and  in  the 
summer  mornings  we  gathered  there  for  a  simple  service. 

And  the  mother  of  this  household — what  shall  I  say  for  her  ? 
With  never  a  dress  from  a  fashionable  dressmaker,  with  never 
any  smart  ways,  and  yet  possessing  such  intelk  :t  and  charm, 
such  absolute  holiness  of  life,  that  men  from  the  university, 
friends  of  her  sons,  and  lads  from  the  public  schools  where 
the  boys  had  been,  counted  among  their  greatest  treats  a  visit  to 
her  home.  How  she  thought  of  us  all,  befriended  us,  advised 
and  helped  us.  At  one  time  she  had  under  her  roof  some  eight 
young  men,  friends  of  her  sons,  university  men,  and  all  of  them 
richer  than  her  own  boys.  Young  men  who  in  town  would  have 
probably  been^/etaf  and  made  much  of,  who  were  yet  supremely 
happy  enjoying  the  simple  hospitality  of  that  sweet  home. 
Fancy  eight  modern  young  men  sitting  down  to  a  dinner  of 
boiled  beef  and  vegetables  and  some  simple  puddings,  and 
drinking  ginger  beer.  One  learnt  while  in  this  wonderful 
home,  that  a  house  is  a  place  to  live  in,  and  to  be  comfortable 
in.  There  was  not  a  room  in  the  old  rectory  kept  for  show, 
it  was  all  homely  and  sweet  and  simple.  There  was  no  room 
where  the  boys  might  not  smoke  and  read,  or  occupy  them- 
selves as  they  pleased.  "  I  wish,"  said  the  dear  mother,  "  that 
my  children  should  always  find  their  own  home  the  most  com- 
fortable place  they  have  been  in.  The  carpets  and  curtains 


3n  '"Real"  JEttalatto  3oS 

are  of  no  value  to  me  beyond  the  fact  that  they  serve  their 
purpose  ;  but  the  comfort  of  my  sons  and  daughters  certainly 
is  a  matter  of  consideration."  So  we  enjoyed  the  whole 
beautiful  house.  The  great  old  schoolroom,  which  looked 
over  the  wooded  grounds,  was  a  favourite  haunt  of  ours.  Here 
we  might  make  horrid  experiments  in  chemistry,  here  was 
kept  an  aquarium,  and  various  collections  of  beasts  alive  and 
dead.  In  the  drawing-room,  with  its  sweet-toned  piano, 
which  had  been  a  wedding  gift  to  the  mother,  we  gathered 
in  the  evenings,  and  there  the  daughter  of  the  house 
would  make  music  for  us,  while  the  boys  smoked  and 
read. 

Not  once  in  a  year,  perhaps,  did  the  dear  lady  of  the  house 
leave  her  home  for  "  town " ;  she  found  no  necessity  for  so 
doing,  and  yet  I  have  not  met,  among  all  the  women  in  this 
great  city,  anyone  with  a  more  cultivated  mind  or  richer 
graces.  Of  all  the  young  people  whom  she  gathered  under 
her  roof,  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  give  her  affection  and 
devotion,  and  we  all  went  out  into  the  world  richer  and  better 
for  having  known  her. 

Many  invitations  came  for  the  Rectory  party.  There  was  no 
house  in  all  the  neighbourhood  where  so  many  young  men 
were  to  be  found.  But  we  were  all  so  happy  that  we  cared 
little  to  seek  entertainment  abroad. 

How  often  in  the  clean,  cool  summer  mornings  I  have  got 
up  before  the  house  was  astir,  and  stolen  forth  into  the  fields, 
where  the  daisies  grew  thick,  and  a  wealth  of  orchis  scented 
the  air  with  their  strange,  illusive  perfume.  Under  the  great 
trees  the  mushrooms  grew,  and  in  the  dewy  fields  the  daisies, 
with  their  fresh-washed  faces,  looked  up  with  inviting  grace. 
Those  lonely  morning  rambles  made  me  richer  by  many  a 
comforting  thought.  After  a  simple,  merry  breakfast,  when 
the  whole  household  gathered  together,  we  strayed  across  the 


306  Ube  Soul  fl&arfcet 

garden  to  the  little  church.  I  think  we  all  felt  that  life  was 
worth  living ;  that  "  God  was  in  His  heaven,  and  all  was 
right  with  the  world." 

Once  we  all  went  to  a  garden-party  given  at  a  country  house, 
whose  owners  counted  their  income  by  many  thousands  a 
year.  All  the  people  of  any  consequence  in  the  county  were 
invited,  and  we  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  treat.  The  house  lay 
some  miles  away,  beyond  walking  distance,  so  some  of  us 
went  on  bicycles,  and  some  in  an  old  waggonette  hired  from 
the  village  wheelwright.  It  was  not  at  all  a  fashionable 
vehicle,  but  some  of  the  young  men  who  were  able  to  keep 
their  own  motor  cars  were  perfectly  content  with  this  mode  of 
conveyance.  There  was  the  daughter  of  the  house  in  a  simple 
muslin  dress  and  a  flop  hat,  with  a  wreath  of  roses  round  it, 
looking  like  a  picture.  And  so  we  all  went  to  mingle  with 
the  gay  crowd  of  fashionably -dressed  personages,  many  of 
whom  were  satiated  with  such  simple  gaieties.  We  were 
able  to  enjoy  the  tennis,  and  wandered  about  the  beautiful 
grounds  without  a  fear  of  spoiling  our  clothes,  and  enjoyed 
every  minute  of  the  time.  As  we  had  exercised  ourselves 
violently,  we  were  able  to  do  justice  to  the  good  fare  pro- 
vided. It  was  not  a  case  of  going  to  a  late  reception  after  a 
good  dinner,  and  taking  quantities  of  rich  food  merely  for  the 
sake  of  eating ;  we  enjoyed  the  good  things  because  we  were 
genuinely  hungry. 

It  is  indeed  because  many  such  homes  as  I  have  described, 
still  exist  in  England,  and  because  there  are  hundreds  of 
devoted  mothers  and  faithful  wives,  that  the  country  holds 
her  own.  When  these  cease  to  exist,  then  England's  day  will 
be  done,  for  all  those  who  have  tasted  life  and  touched  the 
heart  of  things  know  that  a  "  smart  "  woman's  life  is  not  worth 
one  jot  to  her  country. 

Then  turning  from   this  lovely  country  life  back  to  the 


3n  "rceal"  Ettalanfc  3.7 

hurried  town  again,  I  must  make  for  my  readers  a  little 
picture  such  as  is  seldom  described  in  print. 

There  were  two  dear  sisters  of  my  friend,  who  asked  me  to 
abide  with  them  until  I  was  settled  in  London.  One  was  a 
Deaconess,  a  dear  little,  loving  creature,  who  had  spent  all 
her  life  in  serving  and  caring  for  others  in  a  huge  and  poor 
parish.  She  always  said  she  was  not  clever,  but  that  God  had 
given  her  one  gift,  and  that  was  the  gift  of  loving ;  and  seeing 
her  life  and  all  that  she  was  able  to  accomplish,  I  think  that 
if  this  gift  of  loving  were  more  common,  the  world  would  be 
richer  and  better.  The  other  sister,  who  spent  much  of  her 
life  looking  after  poor  servant  girls,  and  controlling  and 
managing  a  Home  for  them,  was  a  different  character 
altogether.  She  possessed  a  great,  loving  heart,  but  hid  it 
under  a  somewhat  stern  exterior.  True  as  steel,  and  just  and 
generous,  she  was  a  woman  who,  for  righteousness'  sake,  would 
have  faced  martyrdom.  She  used  her  strength  to  protect  the 
weak.  And  these  two  dear  little  ladies  lived  in  a  little  house 
in  an  unfashionable  suburban  street,  devoting  themselves  and 
their  incomes  to  the  service  of  others.  They  were  always 
ready  to  play  the  mother  to  the  children  of  their  married 
sisters  and  brothers,  always  ready  in  time  of  sickness  and  in 
need,  and  their  little  home  was  always  sheltering  those  who 
needed  their  protection  and  care.  Here,  again,  I  saw  the 
influence  which  really  good  women  are  able  to  exercise  over 
men.  These  two  ladies  had  both  of  them  collections  and 
Savings  Banks  for  the  poor  women  and  girls  in  their  district. 
These  benefactions  entailed  an  enormous  amount  of  clerical 
work  and  accountancy;  Time  and  again  the  young  nephews, 
or  their  college  friends,  would  come  for  the  day  to  share  the 
simple  meals,  and  work  hard  to  help  the  two  ladies.  I 
suppose  that  ultra-smart  and  fashionable  woman  would  have 
considered  them  dowdy  and  dull ;  they  indulged  in  no  society 


Ube  Soul  flfoatftet 

small-talk,  and  never  knew  anything  of  the  latest  scandal. 
Their  clothes  were  often  made  by  a  little  dressmaker  who  was 
kept  in  work,  in  home  and  food,  by  their  patronage.  The 
materials  were  old-fashioned  and  good,  and  everything  about 
them  was  wholesome  and  good  too.  These  two  women  had 
the  power  of  attracting  to  themselves  young  men  and  girls  for 
whom  society  might  spread  its  allurements  in  vain.  Dear 
Auntie  G,  how  clever  she  was,  able  to  discuss  topics  of  real 
moment,  and  having  travelled  abroad  with  an  intelligent 
perception  of  all  she  saw,  she  was  always  a  most  delightful 
companion.  Then  how  good  she  was,  and  how  unselfish. 
That  little  house  radiated  goodness  and  virtue  over  all  that 
thick-peopled  neighbourhood. 

We  may  reverently  thank  God  that  all  through  our  great 
cities  there  are  such  homes  and  such  women  dotted  about. 
Their  lives  are  entirely  unknown  to  "  Society,"  and  yet  their 
very  breath  is  more  precious  than  all  the  useless  lives  of  those 
much-advertised  individuals  whom  the  world  imagines  as 
keeping  poverty  and  crime  at  bay  by  their  vaunted  "  charity  " 
— charity  which  buys  for  the  donors  titles,  and  honours  which 
are  as  dust  in  the  eyes  of  honest  men  and  women. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE    CURTAIN 

THE  CONCLUSIONS   OF   AN    "INSIDER" 

THIS  chapter  is  written  with  all  respect  and  deference  to  those 
whose  magnificent  work  among  the  lost  tribes  of  Britain  have 
made  their  names  golden  words  in  the  land.  My  work  has 
been  nothing.  It  has  only  been  the  surveying  of  the  land,  as 
it  were.  Wiser  and  better  people  than  I  am  must  take  it  up, 
and  reclaim  it.  One  sees  things,  however,  with  altogether 
different  eyes  when  one  lives  among  people  as  one  of  them- 
selves, and  perhaps  my  story  may  be  of  use  to  others.  In  all 
these  seething  parishes,  where  I  have  lost  myself  among  the 
thousands  who  swarm  in  the  localities,  I  have  found  perhaps 
half-a-dozen  different  religious  denominations  struggling  for 
the  betterment  of  these  people. 

When  I  came  to  England,  eight  years  ago,  there  was  just 
beginning  the  public  outcry  about  the  unemployed.  The 
Salvation  Army  and  the  Church  Army  have  been  at  work 
many  years.  It  is  not  far  from  twenty  years  ago  that 
"  General "  Booth  wrote  his  wonderful  book,  "  Darkest 
England  and  a  Way  Out,"  which  startled  the  world,  and  which 
travelled  perhaps  to  every  English-speaking  country.  He 
hoped,  in  fact  I  think  he  declared,  that,  given  a  certain  sum 
of  money  he  would  be  able  to  convert  "  Darkest  England  " 

into  a  realm  of  light.     Since  the  book  appeared  that  sum  of 

309 


3"  ttbe  soul  fl&arfcet 

money  has,  I  believe,  been  subscribed  many  times  over,  but  1 
venture  to  say  that  if  the  slums  he  describes  have  some  of 
them  been  wiped  away,  others  no  less  hideous  have  taken 
their  places,  and  the  dwellers  in  these  plague  spots  are  as 
unlovely,  as  wicked,  and  as  hopeless  as  those  described  in 
"  Darkest  England." 

There  are,  situated  in  the  East  End  of  London,  countless 
missions  sending  out  devoted  servants  into  the  midst  of  these 
unhappy  people,  and  yet  evil  is  rampant  among  the  poor, 
and  society  grows  no  better;  indeed,  so  bad  is  it  that  the 
abuse  of  the  smart  set  has  become  a  cult.  Society  is  reputed 
as  wicked  to-day  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  Beauty  of  Bath. 
But  even  "  Society  "  has  not  been  neglected  by  the  fishers  of 
men,  as  witness  the  crusades  of  Father  Vaughan,  the  writing 
of  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw,  the  meetings  held  by  such  missionaries 
as  Alexander  and  Torrey  in  the  Albert  Hall.  Close  upon 
twenty  years  ago  Moody  and  Sankey,  I  have  been  told,  held 
similar  missions  for  the  naughty  West  End  people,  and  still 
there  is  no  visible  difference  in  the  lives  and  conditions  of 
the  people,  either  poor  or  rich. 

Every  winter  since  I  have  been  in  England,  the  begging 
for  the  poor  has  grown  worse.  Every  year  since  I  have  beer 
here  has  steadily  been  "  the  worst  on  record."  In  the  winte 
the  cold  is  cruel,  in  the  summer  the  heat  is  murderous. 

When  the  Conservatives  were  in  power  they  made  a  war 
and  the  Liberals  said  it  was  that  which  nearly  ruined  the 
country,  but  the  war  has  been  over  four  years  now,  and  there 
is  no  decrease  in  unemployment  or  in  poverty. 

In  the  face  of  these  unhappy  conditions,  those  who  care  at 
all  for  the  welfare  of  the  people,  and  the  good  of  the  country, 
will  naturally  bethink  themselves  of  some  reason  for  the 
failure  of  all  these  philanthropic  schemes  for  the  redemption 
of  humanity. 


conclusions  or  an  "Snsfoec"       3" 

It  might  come  as  a  revelation  to  them  to  see  their  own 
affairs  through  new  eyes,  and  there  are  two  stories  I  would 
earnestly  commend  to  their  particular  notice,  stories  which 
some  philanthropist  ought  to  have  printed  in  penny  editions, 
and  distributed  free  among  all  the  peoples  of  this  kingdom, 
for  their  enlightenment.  The  stories  occur  in  Kipling's  book 
of  "Many  Inventions."  The  first  is  called  "One  View  of 
the  Question,"  and  consists  of  the  letter  of  a  "barbarian" 
heathen  from  Northern  Hindustan  to  a  Minister  in  the  service 
of  the  Khan  of  that  country.  It  is  written  from  the  North- 
brook  Club,  which,  for  the  enlightenment  of  readers  is,  I  may 
mention,  located  in  the  Imperial  Institute,  in  the  parish  of 
South  Kensington,  London.  One  might  do  better  than  pray 
to  the  Lord  that  the  people  of  this  Christian  land  would  read 
that  letter.  It  is  too  perfect  to  be  quoted  from.  I  might, 
however,  venture  upon  giving  a  few  sentences  from  it. 
"Honour  and  stability  have  departed  from  their  councils, 
and  the  knife  of  dissension  has  brought  down  upon  their 
heads  the  flapping  tent-flies  of  confusion.  All  these  things," 
he  writes,  "  I  have  seen  whom  they  regard  as  a  wild  beast 
and  a  spectacle." 

Describing  the  House  of  Parliament,  he  writes  : 

"  Some  of  them  are  well-born,  but  the  greater  part  are  low- 
born, coarse-skinned,  waving  their  arms,  high-voiced,  without 
dignity,  slack  in  the  mouth,  shifty-eyed,  and  as  I  have  said, 
swayed  by  the  wind  of  a  woman's  cloak. 

"Now  this  is  a  tale  but  two  days  old.  There  was  a 
company  at  meat,  and  a  high-voiced  woman  spoke  to  me,  in 
the  face  of  the  men,  of  the  affairs  of  our  womankind.  It  was 
her  ignorance  that  made  each  word  an  edged  insult.  Re- 
membering this,  I  held  my  peace  till  she  had  spoken  a  new 
law  as  to  the  control  of  our  zenanas,  and  all  who  are  behind 
the  curtain. 


boul  flfearftet 

"  Then  I :  '  Hast  thou  ever  felt  the  life  stir  under  thy  heart 
or  laid  a  little  son  between  thy  breasts,  O  most  unhappy?' 
Thereto  she  hotly,  with  a  haggard  eye :  '  No,  for  I  am  a  free 
woman,  and  no  servant  of  babes.'  Then  I  softly  :  'God  deal 
lightly  with  thee,  my  sister,  for  thou  art  in  heavier  bondage 
than  any  slave,  and  the  fuller  half  of  the  earth  is  hidden  from 
thee.  The  first  ten  years  of  the  life  of  a  man  are  his  mother's, 
and  from  the  dusk  to  the  dawn  surely  the  wife  may  command 
the  husband.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  stand  back  in  the  waking 
hours  while  the  men  go  abroad  unhampered  by  thy  hands  on 
the  bridle-rein  ?  '  Then  she  wondered  that  a  heathen  should 
speak  thus  :  yet  she  is  a  woman  honoured  among  these  men, 
and  openly  professes  that  she  hath  no  profession  of  faith  in 
her  mouth.  Read  this  in  the  ear  of  the  Rao  Sahib,  and 
demand  how  it  would  fare  with  me  if  I  brought  such  a  woman 
for  his  use.  It  were  worse  than  that  yellow  desert-bred  girl  from 
Cutch,  who  set  the  girls  to  fighting  for  her  own  pleasure,  and 
slippered  the  young  prince  across  the  mouth.  Rememberest 
thou?" 

But  the  document  is  too  long  and  too  precious  for  quotation 
to  do  it  justice. 

The  other  history  I  recommend  for  the  enlightenment  of 
the  thoughtful  British  public  is  "The  Record  of  Badalia 
Herodsfoot." 

The  description  of  the  workers  in  Gunnison  Street  is  an 
absolutely  true  picture  of  the  workers  in  a  thousand  such 
streets  in  every  great  city  of  the  kingdom.  Mr.  Kipling  is  a 
genius ;  I  am  only  a  very  poor  recorder  of  such  things  as  I 
have  seen.  I  give  the  description  of  philanthropy  in  Gunnison 
Street  in  his  own  words,  and  pray  that  the  Lord  may  put  it 
into  the  minds  of  the  people  to  read  the  story  for  themselves, 
and  set  about  finding  the  means  whereby  these  overlappings 


Conclusions  of  an  "Snsioer"      3i3 

of  charity  and   fierce  bickerings  among  Christians  may  be 
prevented. 

"  These  were  a  mixed  corps,  zealous  or  hysterical,  faint- 
hearted or  only  vejy  wearied  of  battle  against  misery, 
according  to  their  lights.  The  most  part  were  consumed 
with  small  rivalries  and  personal  jealousies,  to  be  retailed 
confidentially  to  their  own  tiny  cliques  in  the  pauses  between 
wrestling  with  death  for  the  body  of  a  moribund  laundress,  or 
scheming  for  further  mission-grants  to  resole  a  consumptive 
compositor's  very  consumptive  boots.  There  was  a  rector 
that  lived  in  dread  of  pauperising  the  poor,  would  fain  have 
held  bazaars  for  fresh  altar-cloths,  and  prayed  in  secret  for  a 
large  new  brass  bird,  with  eyes  of  red  glass,  fondly  believed  to 
be  carbuncles.  There  was  Brother  Victor,  of  the  Order  of 
Little  Ease,  who  knew  a  great  deal  about  altar-cloths,  but  kept 
his  knowledge  in  the  background  while  he  strove  to  propitiate 
Mrs.  Jessel,  the  secretary  of  the  Tea-cup  Board,  who  had 
money  to  dispense,  but  hated  Rome — even  though  Rome 
would,  on  his  honour,  do  no  more  than  fill  the  stomach, 
leaving  the  dazed  soul  to  the  mercies  of  Mrs.  Jessel.  There 
were  all  the  little  sisters  of  the  Red  Diamond,  daughters  of 
the  horseleech,  crying  '  Give  '  when  their  own  charity  was 
exhausted,  and  pitifully  explaining  to  such  as  demanded  an 
account  of  their  disbursements,  in  return  for  one  half- 
sovereign,  that  relief-work  in  a  bad  district  can  hardly  be 
systematised  on  the  accounts'  side  without  expensive 
duplication  of  staff.  There  was  the  Reverend  Eustace 
Hanna,  who  worked  impartially  with  Ladies'  Committees, 
Androgynous  Leagues  and  Guilds,  Brother  Victor,  and  any- 
body else  who  could  give  him  money,  boots,  or  blankets,  or 
that  more  precious  help  that  allows  itself  to  be  directed  by 
those  who  know.  And  all  these  people  learned,  one  by  one, 


3i4  tTbe  Soul  /l&arfeet 

to  consult  Badalia  on  matters  of  personal  character,  right  to 
relief,  and  hope  of  eventual  reformation  in  Gunnison  Street. 
Her  answers  were  seldom  cheering,  but  she  possessed  special 
knowledge  and  complete  confidence  in  herself. 

"  *  I'm  Gunnison  Street,'  she  said  to  the  austere  Mrs. 
Jessel.  '  I  know  what's  what,  /  do,  an'  they  don't  want  your 
religion,  mum,  not  a  single —  Excuse  me.  It's  all  right 
when  they  comes  to  die,  mum;  but  till  they  die  what  they 
wants  is  things  to  eat.  The  men  they'll  shif  for  themselves. 
That's  why  Nick  Lapworth  sez  to  you  that  'e  wants  to  be 
confirmed  an"  all  that.  'E  won't  never  lead  no  new  life,  nor 
'is  wife  won't  get  no  good  out  o'  all  the  money  you  gives  'im. 
No  more  you  can't  pauperise  them  as  'asn't  things  to  begin 
with.  They're  bloomin'  well  pauped.'  " 

Were  a  decent  woman  or  a  good  man  to  go  down  among 
these  miserable  specimens  of  humanity,  and  for  the  sake  of 
the  fearful  suffering  they  had  seen  endured  by  the  children, 
plead  with  them  to  refrain  from  bringing  into  the  world 
countless  numbers  of  these  diseased  little  ones  to  suffer  and 
to  starve,  the  whole  Christian  Church  would  rise  up  and 
denounce  these  two  as  worse  than  murderers.  But  mother! 
who  have  to  work  to  support  drunken  and  professionally 
unemployed  fathers,  receiving  in  return  blows  and  curses,  are 
not,  I  maintain,  fit  people  to  add  to  the  population  of  the 
nation.  We  are  supporting  at  the  present  day  more  lunatics, 
cripples,  and  criminals  than  we  can  afford.  These  people  are 
all  kept  chiefly  by  the  middle  classes,  and  the  awful  result  is 
while  they  breed  and  increase  like  rabbits,  the  women  who 
might  give  wholesome  and  healthy  children  to  the  nation  are 
being  disqualified  for  maternal  duties  by  the  heavy  burdens 
which  society  and  philanthropy  lay  upon  them.  There  are 
hundreds  of  young  people  who  have  married  for  love  in  our 


Conclusions  of  an  "Snsfoer"       3*5 

great  cities,  who  would  give  much  to  have  their  little  homes 
brightened  by  the  laughter  of  children,  whom  they  might 
bring  up  to  be  useful  and  decent  citizens,  but  the  demands  of 
modern  life  are  so  exacting  that  children  are  luxuries  they 
cannot  afford. 

The  poor  are  on  their  backs  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea. 
They  may  never  be  shaken  off.  The  rich  grab  the  land  and 
own  it,  so  that  where  were  bred  men  in  the  country  places, 
now  are  profitless  lands.  The  fair  Scotch  hills  may  no  more 
nourish  strong  sons  to  fight  for  the  land  they  love.  The 
Scottish  Highlands  are  bought  and  reserved  as  shooting, 
grounds  by  rich  folks  from  over  the  seas.  Here  is  a  story  to 
show  the  futility  of  honest  men  trying  to  build  up  homes  for 
themselves  and  their  families. 

My  friend,  Miss  R.,  has  lived  all  her  life  in  a  house  in 
Albermarle  Street,  Piccadilly.  The  house  was  built  by  her 
grandfather,  a  well-known  physician,  who  left  it  to  his 
daughter,  who  married  a  literary  man.  They  lived  honest 
and  useful  lives.  Her  daughter,  my  friend,  became  an  Art 
teacher  and  has  many  pupils.  Her  home,  as  she  fondly 
considered  this  house,  it  being  the  only  home  she  has  ever 
known,  is  centrally  situated,  and  she  is  able  to  support 
her  aged  mother  and  an  orphan  nephew  and  niece  by  her 
teaching,  supplemented  by  rent  she  gets  from  apartments 
in  her  house  which  she  lets  off. 

A  little  while  ago  she  had  a  notice  from  the  trustees  of  the 
"ground  rents,"  informing  her  that  her  lease  would  expire 
within  a  few  months.  The  rent  of  the  house  will  then  be 
more  than  doubled.  My  friend  is  herself  close  upon  sixty 
years  of  age,  and  her  mother  is  eighty-eight.  Their  income 
will  not  permit  of  their  taking  a  really  good  house,  so  Miss 
R.  will  probably  lose  her  pupils.  In  rates  alone  they  have 
paid  over  and  over  again  the  value  of  the  house.  But  they 


316  tlDc  soul  flDarftet 

will  soon  find  themselves  without  any  home,  while  the  heir  to 
this  ground  rent  comes  in  automatically  for  a  fine  house  which 
has  not  cost  him  a  penny,  nor  did  his  ancestors  work  for  it. 

The  workers  are  crushed,  and  the  drones  eat  their  harvests. 

As  I  have  pointed  out  all  through  this  book,  my  experience 
both  among  the  rich  and  the  poor,  convinces  me  that  it  is 
the  idlers  who  are  the  burden  and  curse  of  society.  A  very 
curious  example  of  this  came  to  my  notice  one  day,  when  in 
company  with  a  friend  I  wandered  down  into  a  very  poor 
neighbourhood  in  order  to  take  some  photographs. 

A  policeman  met  us  and  said  :  "  You  are  not  going  down 
that  street  surely  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  we  said,  "  we  are  going  to  take  some  photographs." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  advise  you  to.  Since  these 
notices  have  been  put  up  by  Will  Crooks  and  his  gang, 
promising  aid  to  the  unemployed,  we  have  had  such  a  heap 
of  trouble  in  this  district,  that  we  have  doubled  the  number 
of  constables  on  duty.  The  men  hereabouts  are  very  idle 
and  dangerous  characters.  In  these  days,  when  everything  is 
forgiven  a  man  if  he  says  he  is  unemployed,  I  wouldn't  advise 
you  to  go  about  in  places  like  this."  Now,  all  that  I  know 
personally  of  Mr.  Crooks  is  in  his  favour.  He  is  a  man,  I 
should  think,  whom  everyone  must  respect  and  honour,  and 
he  has  worked  hard  all  his  life ;  but  from  my  own  experience, 
I  think  that  in  a  very  large  percentage  of  cases,  the  men  who 
are  unemployed  remain  unemployed  for  the  simple  reason 
that  they  are  unemployable,  and  have  absolutely  made  up 
their  minds  that  they  will  not  work.  I  have  followed,  in  com- 
pany with  a  friend,  a  procession  of  the  unemployed,  dressed 
in  poor  and  shabby  clothes  myself,  in  order  to  study  the  ways 
and  methods  of  these  people.  We  have  had  some  extremely 
amusing  conversations  with  these  applicants  for  public  pity. 
Often  the  cases  are  genuine,  and  men  have  been  driven 


ZTbe  Conclusions  ot  an  "Snsfoer"       317 

almost  to  the  verge  of  desperation  by  suffering  and  hope- 
lessness, but  in  other  cases,  loafers  and  hooligans  of  the 
worst  description  have  openly  boasted  to  us  that  they  never 
had  such  a  good  time  in  their  lives  as  when  they  went  about 
in  the  processions  of  the  unemployed,  sharing  the  harvest  of 
money  which  the  public  gave  these  people. 

The  condition  of  affairs  in  Poplar  and  these  localities  are 
only  aggravated  by  the  heavy  taxes  and  extravagant  local 
government.  Great  business  firms  employing  hundreds  of 
workmen  are  obliged,  owing  to  the  undue  taxation,  to 
remove  their  factories  and  workshops  to  cheaper  localities. 
Thus  the  "  Killing  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  egg "  has 
not  proved  a  happy  expedient.  In  Battersea,  where  I  have 
wandered  about  a  good  deal  among  the  poor,  I  found  a 
different  state  of  things.  Here,  although  the  local  rates  are 
heavy  and  the  Government  expensive  enough,  a  great  deal 
of  sound,  practical  work  is  done  with  the  money  spent  in  the 
borough;  Mr.  John  Burns  is  not  a  sentimentalist;  He  is  a 
very  strong  and  practical  man. 

I  begin  to  think  that,  instead  of  putting  intolerable 
burdens  on  those  of  us  who  work,  and  taxing  great 
industries  to  death,  it  would  be  better  to  compel  men  to 
work  for  the  support  of  themselves  and  their  families; 

Any  fool,  of  course,  can  find  fault  with  existing  methods. 
I  know  a  lady  who  holds  the  enviable  position  of  being 
dramatic  critic  to  three  newspapers,  They  are  not  first-class 
newspapers,  it  is  true,  but  still  she  makes  a  good  living  out 
of  them.  She  told  me  that  she  was  bound  to,  what  she 
called  "  slate "  one  out  of  every  three  plays  or  performances 
she  saw,  because  her  criticisms  would  become  so  monotonous 
otherwise,  and  her  editors  would  begin  to  grow  uneasy. 
Another  lady  I  know,  who  is  book-reader  to  one  of  the 
evening  journals — her  only  qualification  for  the  post  being 


3*8  TTbe  Soul  fl&arfcet 

that  she  has  an  uncle  who  is  an  editor,  who  recommended 
her  to  the  proprietor  of  the  said  paper — also  gave  me  some 
curious  information  about  the  way  she  did  her  work.  She 
informed  me  that  she  was  only  able  to  read  one  or  two 
books  out  of  each  batch  sent  to  her,  and  always  chose  the 
one  that  "looked  exciting."  The  others,  she  said,  she 
noticed  with  a  passing  word  if  she  saw  them  reviewed  in  any 
papers  which  she  happened  to  come  across.  Once  in  a 
while  she  would  take  up  a  book  and,  as  she  called  it,  "  pull 
it  to  pieces" — this  by  way  of  variation  and  excitement. 
How  long  she  held  her  post  I  am  not  able  to  say,  but  the 
art  of  pulling  things  to  pieces  is  certainly  far  more  common 
than  the  art  of  building  up  and  putting  together. 

It  is  thus,  with  the  greatest  diffidence  that  I  venture  to 
make  any  comments  on  the  charity  or  religion  which  has 
done,  in  spite  of  all  disadvantages,  so  much  for  thousands 
of  those  who  have  needed  the  ministrations  of  both.  Any 
man  or  woman  who  has  travelled  much  and  spent  years  of 
life  in  foreign  lands  —  more  especially  those  which  are 
commonly  called  heathen — will  be  at  once  struck  with  the 
innumerable  differences  and  dissensions  among  the  Christians. 

The  vicar  of  a  very  poor  parish  once  said  to  me  that  he 
would  rather  nothing  was  ever  done  for  his  people,  and  that 
they  were  lost  body  and  soul,  than  that  they  should  be 
corrupted  and  led  into  heresy.  By  that  he  meant  that  he 
would  rather  the  thousands  of  souls  in  his  great  parish  were 
absolutely  neglected — for  he  could  not  possibly  look  after 
them  all  himself — than  that  any  Nonconformists  or  workers 
of  any  other  denominations  should  care  for  them  or  labour 
amongst  them.  It  is  to  these  small  bigotries  and  to  the 
constant  overlapping  of  charity  that  we  owe  much  of  the 
evil  conditions  which  now  prevail  among  our  people.  If 
there  was  unity  among  Christian  workers,  and  one  whole, 


TTfoe  Conclusions  or  an  "Snsfoer"      319 

determined  system  by  which  charity  was  distributed,  much 
could  be  done,  not  only  towards  alleviating  the  fearful 
sufferings  of  the  very  poor,  and  also  in  compelling  the 
idlers  to  work,  but  in  compelling  legislation  which  would 
make  it  impossible  for  idlers  to  live  upon  the  earnings  of 
others.  Although  it  is,  I  believe,  against  the  law  for  anyone 
in  this  country  to  be  without  a  visible  means  of  subsistence, 
I  have  never  known  personally  of  a  case  where  a  man  or 
woman  has  been  brought  to  book  and  questioned  because 
of  not  having  any  definite  occupation. 

One  other  little  suggestion  I  might  put  forward  very 
humbly,  and  that  is  with  regard  to  the  work  undertaken  in 
the  various  clubs  for  women  and  lads  and  girls.  Would  it 
not  be  possible  to  have  some  of  these,  at  least,  open  to  both 
sexes ;  places  where,  under  proper  supervision  and  in  decent 
surroundings,  the  lads  and  the  girls  could  meet  each  other, 
and  have  an  opportunity  of  knowing  each  other  and  doing 
their  courting  respectably,  instead  of  being  obliged  to  seek 
the  streets  as  the  only  place  where  they  might  meet  ?  This  is 
but  one  of  the  improvements  which  have  lately  been  made 
at  our  Hoxton  Club.  We  have  now  a  literary  and  debating 
society,  and  the  lads  and  girls  are  able  to  meet  and  enjoy  each 
other's  company  under  comfortable  and  decent  conditions. 

It  was,  I  think,  at  a  debate  on  a  Ladies'  Night  at  the 
Hardewick  Society,  held  at  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  that 
I  heard  that  clever  speaker,  Lady  Hamilton,  describe  how 
courtship  and  marriage  were  carried  on  in  society.  I  thought 
when  listening  to  her,  that  the  very  rich  and  the  very  poor 
suffer  many  similar  disabilities.  The  society  girl,  according 
to  Lady  Hamilton,  was  never  allowed  to  meet  a  man  except 
in  company  with  her  chaperon,  and  if  some  man  did  happen 
to  take  an  interest  in  her,  and  dance  with  her,  perhaps  three 
or  four  times  within  a  week  or  so.  and  met  her  perhaps  in  the 


3*0  TTbe  Soul 

Park  once,  he  was  immediately  called  upon  by  her  guardian 
to  render  an  account  of  his  intentions.  It  was  her  opinion 
that  if  the  girls  and  men  were  allowed  to  meet,  to  talk  to  each 
other,  and  to  have  some  small  means  of  intimacy  before  the 
question  of  marriage  was  broached  or  thought  of,  that  there 
would  be  far  fewer  cases  in  the  divorce  courts.  Certainly 
the  upper  middle-class  girls  have  in  these  days  a  thousand 
advantages  over  their  richer  or  poorer  sisters.  A  woman  is 
so  often  robbed  of  one  of  the  most  delightful  and  useful 
things  in  life — a  man's  real  friendship — because  of  the 
difficulties  which  are  put  in  the  way  of  an  open  and  easy 
intercourse.  My  own  life  has  been  made  so  much  richer 
and  fuller  by  the  devoted  friendship  of  two  men,  and  the 
affection  and  care  of  two  of  the  best  of  women,  that  I 
feel  a  very  sincere  compassion  for  both  girls  and  men  who 
are  deprived  of  friendship  which  makes  for  so  much  happiness. 

For  middle-class  girls  the  clubs  are  comfortable  and  proper 
meeting-places  for  men  and  women.  Among  the  poor  the 
public-house  often  fills  this  office. 

When  I  was  serving  as  a  barmaid  in  a  public-house,  I 
realised  how  the  poor  look  upon  the  "  pub "  as  a  sort  of 
club.  It  is  often  the  only  place  where  they  have  any  comfort 
and  light  and  warmth.  If  there  were  established  in  our  great 
cities,  public  clubs  for  men  and  women,  much  of  the  drinking 
and  consequent  vice  would  be  done  away  with. 

I  do  not  expect  for  this  book  a  great  popular  reception,  but 
I  send  it  out  with  a  growing  hope  that  some  .may  read  it 
who  are  strong  enough  and  wise  enough  to  lend  their  influence 
towards  the  suppression  of  some  of  the  more  hideous  evils 
which  I  have  in  these  pages  only  hinted  at 

THE   END 


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